


She's Got a Boyfriend Anyway

by hiJaq



Series: She's Got a Boyfriend Anyway [1]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla (Web Series) RPF
Genre: F/F, F/M, So don't read this if you don't like that, This is a RPF, also don't read this if you have any triggers, but as a general rule if you are sensitive to common triggers I would not read this fic, just ask me if you have something specific you want to know before you can read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 17:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4530732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiJaq/pseuds/hiJaq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story about two girls who are neighbors, and who fall painfully in love, but at different times. In my mind, I imagine this to be a well-produced indie film set in Toronto starring the same actresses. But since it’s just a fanfic, it’s really an Elise/Natasha fic. There's a part two, an epilogue, and some ficlets in the series that I've already finished that I will be posting as well. Don't read if you have triggers, if you don't like RPF, or if you are uncomfortable in any way. Take care of yourselves!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She's Got a Boyfriend Anyway

//

You’re walking back to your new apartment after a long shift. It’s cold, and your feet hurt, and you’re dreaming of a hot bath the first time you see her. She’s across the street locking her front door. It’s her body you notice first. She’s wearing a dress that wraps around it, her shoulders bare, and you can’t see much more than her silhouette, but it gets your attention. You see her face once she steps into the street light, and you can’t see it perfectly, but you can tell she’s pretty. You look away so she doesn’t catch you staring, and you tuck your hair behind your ear. When you look over at her again she’s climbing into a loud car full of people and music. Her eyes connect with yours as she’s pulled into the backseat, and your heart’s squeezing in your chest, and your stomach is doing _something._ You stare after the car as it disappears down the street. You think she turns to look at you again through the back window, but it’s dark, and you never could tell the difference between the way things are and the way you want them to be at this time of night anyway.  You walk up the steps to your apartment with a smile on your face. You text your friends to meet them out, because suddenly you’re not so tired anymore.

//  

You look out for her now when you get to your street. Sometimes you see her, and your heart thumps in your chest, and you feel your face burn when she meets your gaze. You think she looks out for you too, because her head is always turned toward your side of the street with searching eyes, and it’s just a feeling you get. 

You used to be too nervous to talk to her until one day she walks right up to you, and all the air has disappeared, and you just try to stay still as she says, “Hey, I’m Natasha. I figured I should introduce myself before one of us gets hit by a car from all the staring.” You bark out a laugh at her unexpected bluntness, but fall silent as she bites her lip. Your heart stutters in your chest. She holds out her hand, and you shake it awkwardly with a sunshine smile on your face. 

“My name's Elise. I live just right here.” You gesture back to your apartment.   

“I know,” she says, and you both laugh, and you look down while Natasha stares straight at you. You can hear your blood pumping in your ears as you exchange numbers. Then you wave goodbye, because you really do have to go to work. You walk backwards for a few steps, your arms swinging in front of you, watching as she turns to walk back to her house. You try not to stare at her ass and fail.

You see lots of people going in and out of her giant old house. She has a revolving door of roommates and dates. Men and women you notice. You catch her a few times while she’s reaching up on her tip toes to kiss one, but in a few weeks there’s one guy left standing, and you think you’re jealous which is absolutely ridiculous, but you are.

// 

One day you’re walking by her house on your way to your shift, and you glance through its huge windows. You’re stopped dead in your tracks by the sight of her being kissed by the same guy you’ve seen for awhile now. She’s naked from the waist up, a large tatted hand palming her breast. You’re curious and stare longer than you should. She smiles when she sees you and moans. You can see her gripping his back tighter. Desire strikes you like a lightening bolt. You’re paralyzed. You want to turn and go but something heavy keeps your feet in place. You think maybe she likes you watching. You think maybe she likes you.

You look at her boyfriend, and his face is beautiful, and his body is long and lean. You’re insanely jealous of him. 

On the same day, as you’re walking back from work, you see her sitting on her porch, and she’s staring at you unabashedly. You feel self-conscious in your work clothes compared to her, but you wander over to her side of the street, hands tucked in your back pockets, not quite able to make consistent eye contact yet.

When you’re within earshot she says, “You liked watching me fuck my boyfriend didn’t you?”

You meet her eyes now, because you’re shocked at how vulgar she is. “I think _you_ liked me watching you fuck your boyfriend.”

You cover your mouth with a hand. You didn’t mean to be so biting. The truth is you did like it, sort of, but it was a hijacking kind of desire, and there was jealousy too, and strangely, hope. Each one bubbling up in turn. You’re so overwhelmed around her that you don’t recognize yourself.

She smiles a half smile, clearly impressed, and pats the spot next to her on the porch. You sit and she asks, “So, which one of us are you into?”

There are sirens going off in your brain, and you’re sweating a little even though it’s cool outside, and she’s talking about how you watched her have sex like you’re discussing the weather. She doesn’t wait for your response, she just chuckles when you hesitate and invites you inside. You say yes. You’re a fumbling mixture of terrified, excited, and insatiably curious.

"So, where’s your room?” You ask. You groan internally and roll your eyes at yourself, because you’re just trying to make conversation, but that seemed a little forward under the circumstances. 

“It’s upstairs. Do you want to see it?”

“Yes.” And suddenly you really do want to know what her room is like.

You’re walking up the stairs, and you joke, “I was beginning to wonder if you had one, considering all the action going on downstairs.” 

She laughs, “Well, I do, and it’s a good thing too, because

I’m getting another roommate who will be home much more often than my current one.”

“So, no more free shows?” You’re cringing inside, because

why did you even say that? You go on really quickly, your tone more serious, “You know, it was an accident. I’m not, like, into that sort of thing normally.” 

Natasha opens the door to her bedroom and of course it’s perfect. There’s jewelry, accessories, and makeup covering every surface. Her bed is at least a queen, and she’s got this tapestry thing hanging on the wall above it. You think you’d need to stare at it for a couple of hours before you saw everything. You notice there’s a little pipe and some pot on the sill of her bay window.

“Do you smoke?” She asks you, realizing what caught your

“Sometimes.” You don’t smoke.

“That’s Jonah’s.” You nod your head once and try not to make a big deal about her mentioning him.

She sits on her bed, and you sit on the little day bed that doubles as the window sill, right next to the pot, and she asks you what you do. You’re both actresses, you’re both in the service industry, you’re both twenty-one, you both like girls, and you both like each other judging by the tension in the room. 

She brings you a beer, and when she hands it to you she holds onto it for a beat, so you’re both touching the bottle. You think to yourself that you can’t remember the last time you were so uncontrollably attracted to someone. She lets it go and walks back to her bed. You are just staring at each other from across the room before you say,

“I like your necklace. What’s the symbol mean?”

“You can come look at it if you want.”

Your heart is pounding triple time in your chest as you walk over to her bed, and your eyes flick to hers for a moment before you reach down to pick up the little charm to get a better look. Your fingertips tremble against her collar bone.

“Wow, it’s really-”

But you don’t finish the thought, because she’s pulling you down onto the bed and kissing you. She rolls you so she’s on top, and she leans in to kiss you again, but you put a hand to her chest to stop her and say, “What about Jonah?” and she says “What about him?” That’s good enough for you. Her hands are at the button of your pants, and your breath catches in your throat. This is all moving really fast, so you put your hand on top of hers to still them, and she says,

“Don’t stop me, Elise. I’ve wanted to fuck you since the moment I saw you.”

You find out very quickly that you can’t say no to her as she gets you out of all your clothes and hers too with very little convincing. You’re straddling her now, and she can feel you against her, and she says, “I can’t believe how _fucking_ wet you are. 

A new pang of want sets you on fire, and you lurch forward, kissing her hot and fast, your tongues moving against each other, exploring each other’s mouths. You think you could just do this forever when she grabs you by the hips and rolls you on your back again. You gasp when she slips one finger inside of you and then another. She’s rocking into you, and you reach down to touch her, but she tells you no.

“Don’t.” She’s demanding, but you find it incredibly sexy. 

“And what happens if I do?” 

“You want to know what I do to naughty little girls like you who don’t behave?” You nod your head, mesmerized, a thrill running down your spine. You think you might have lost your mind, because you’ve never been more turned on in your life.  

She’s been staring down at her fingers moving in and out of you, but now she looks you dead in the eye, “I teach them a fucking lesson.” And her tone is like steel. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” you breathe out, and she’s still pumping steadily into you, but harder now. She takes your hands and pins them above your head with one of hers, and you hear yourself pant, “ _harder._ ” You’ve never had it like this. Your eyes water in pain and pleasure, and you want her to stop and never stop all at once. You’re coming with a strangled cry before you know it, her thumb on your clit, your eyes locked on her hard nipples and her soft breasts against yours. 

“Oh my god.” You say, still experiencing the aftershocks of your orgasm.  You’re grinning as she collapses next to you.

She rolls her eyes in your direction, “I knew you were a freak.” 

You laugh, because it’s such a ridiculous thing for her to say. “Uh, I’m not the only one.”

“I don’t walk around in little dresses pretending to be innocent and making doe eyes at my neighbors.”

“ _Neighbor_. One Neighbor. Just you. And I am innocent, you’ve just defiled me, I hope you know.”

She rolls back on top of you and says, “Oh, I can do better than that. You better be ready for round two by the time I get back with another beer.”

You watch her as she walks bare ass naked out of her room, just a few pieces of jewelry adorning her body, enjoying the opportunity to look at her. 

Instead of being completely horrified with yourself now that you have time to reflect on what you’ve done, all you can think about is what she’s going to do to you next.

//

You get a text from her on a Tuesday night. It’s been almost a week since you’ve seen her. You’ve been hooking up a couple of times a week for a month now, but you’ve been busy with work lately. There’s a Pavlovian ache between your legs in response to seeing her name on your phone. She says she saw you in that dress last night, and she had to stop herself from walking out of the house and taking you in the middle of the street.  Your heart skips a beat because this is about as affectionate a text as you’ve ever gotten from her. Then she texts you again and asks you what the occasion was. You wait a few minutes trying to figure out what to type. You tell her you were just going out with friends, nothing special. The truth is that you went on a date, but you really didn’t want to tell her that. You wonder if she believes you when she doesn’t text you for an hour.

You text her again and tell her you’re touching yourself and thinking about her. She tells you to come over.

You walk across the street and let yourself in - looking out for roommates as you do. You hear some people in the backyard. You slip quietly up the stairs and down the hallway, able to make the walk in complete darkness now. You walk into her room, and she tells you to get naked and to come here. You were ready for that, because the last few times you’ve been over to her place, you had primped and picked out cute outfits, but it was a waste of time. She would just make you take them off. You slip out of your yoga pants and your tank top, and you put them on her dresser before you climb into her bed. It smells good in that familiar way, and you remind yourself for the hundredth time not to get attached.

You’re already wet and have been since the second she texted you earlier. You straddle her, but there’s something between her legs, and you gasp.  She pulls your hips into hers so you can’t get away and tells you to chill the fuck out - that it’s just a strap-on. Your eyes are wide because you’ve never done that, and you don’t know if it would even fit in you. She’s gripping your hips and flipping you over on your back. She holds your knees open with her hands, and she’s grinding against you, and you think if it’s possible for someone to fuck your mouth with their tongue then she’s doing it. You’re not used to that bulge rubbing against you, so you push at her shoulders to slow her down.

“Natasha, I don’t- I’ve never done this.” You don’t want to admit it out loud to her for some reason, but you’ve never slept with a guy, and you never plan to.

She shushes you and tells you, “Don’t be scared,” and you feel her reach down, and she’s testing how wet you are, and you’re fucking dripping. She guides the head of it, and when it touches you, you tell her you’re not sure, but she doesn’t stop. She tells you to relax and that it’ll feel good. She pushes it in, and at first it’s too painful, and you let out a gasp and clutch your arms around her shoulders, burying your face in her neck. You think she likes it, because her nipples are hard against you, and her chest is heaving, and you can feel that the insides of her thighs are slick. It’s all the way in now, and she starts to move her hips, and it feels better. It feels much better as she works between your legs.

You think you know what she wants, and you beg, _“_ No, don’t. Baby, please don't,” into her ear. You claw your nails down her back, your hips doing the opposite of what your mouth is saying. It’s exactly what she wants, because she’s moaning now, and she pushes into you harder, and she says, “ _Fuck_ , Elise, you’re so _fucking_ sexy.”

She’s bucking wild into you as you pant, “Stop, please, stop.” You’ve never felt this full before, and you think it’s stretching your limits. You’re so wet that the sounds of it fill the room every time she thrusts into you. You feel like you’re blacking out from the pleasure when you hear her say,

“I know you fucking like this, don’t you? Tell me you like it.”

“I like it. _Fuck_ , I like it so much.” It’s all so hot and new to you, and you think you’d tell her anything she wanted at this point.

She rubs your clit, and you come with stars in your eyes saying, “No-no-no, don’t stop. Right there. Fuck me, Natasha.” You think she comes too, because her whole body tenses on top of you, and her mouth is open in a silent moan. When she pulls out you reach down and feel that she’s a mess. She catches your hand and squeezes it around the strap-on making your hand move up and down it. It slides easily because your wetness is all over it.

"You did that.” You say. “You did that to me.”

She lets you eat her out for the first time, but only after you show her how you would suck her off. You can tell she’s getting off on it, your mouth wrapped around the dildo, her hips bucking up, her hands in your hair. She pulls sharply on a handful of strands when you accidentally close your eyes. She wants them wide open and staring at hers. She pushes you to your knees on the floor by the bed, and you think they might be bruising on the hardwood, but you don’t care. She asks you if you like it, and you tell her you only like it because it’s her dick, but what you really want is to know what she tastes like. It takes you twenty minutes, but she comes for you, and when her body finishes convulsing, you lay back on the bed with a huge grin on your face.

She sits up on her side and pinches your nipple. “Don’t look so smug.”

You go to swat her offending hand away, but she grabs yours and holds it, so you lace your fingers together. You glance at her nervously, and you think it’s absolutely ridiculous that you’re more nervous to be holding her hand than you were to be eating her out.  You start talking because you want to distract from it. “This is a big day for me. I got fucked with a strap-on, gave my first blow job, and I made you come. If I would have known this was my reward I would have worn that dress sooner.” 

You think you must have said something wrong because she drops your hand and starts to sit up. “Where are you going?”

“I’m just going to the bathroom.”

And you say, “Oh.” But something feels off.

She comes back, and she’s wearing clothes, so you get up to grab yours from the dresser, because you’re guessing the night is over. 

She grabs you by the waist as you pass her, and she pulls you into her, your nipples brushing against her cotton shirt. She’s searching your eyes with her own, and her face is serious. You can’t help thinking how fucking cute her serious face is. “I know you lied to me about your date last night. You can do whatever - whoever you want. But we _are_ friends, so don’t lie to me.”

You haven’t had a confrontation like this with her yet, and you look down because you’ve been caught, and you say, “You’re right. I just don’t know the rules about what we’re doing, and I-I like you.” You stumble over the last part because you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it started coming out. She grabs your chin and tilts your face up.  She makes eye contact with you before she kisses your mouth, and you’re melting for what will be the first of many times. When she’s done kissing you she smiles.

“Get dressed. We’re going to meet some of my friends for drinks.”

And you groan, because of course she’d invite you out on the one night you only brought yoga pants.

//

It’s a mystery to you how she can turn it on and off. She’ll spend one afternoon fucking you and the next you’re shopping together or meeting friends for lunch, and she treats you like she doesn’t have every crevice of your body memorized. There’s not even a hint of her wanting you. It drives you crazy to watch her in social settings. Sometimes you can pull her out of it. When you beg. When your panties are a mess, and you’re dragging her into the bathroom stall of some bar. She takes pity on you and calls you a needy little slut in your ear as she rubs two fast orgasms out of you in less than ten minutes.

//

You’re walking home from work on a summer afternoon. The air smells sweet, the sky is blue, and your skin is warm in the yellow light. You can hear kids screaming and jumping into a pool somewhere in the neighborhood, and you long to go swimming. You see Natasha sitting against a tree trunk in her front yard reading a book. You all but skip over to her. She’s wearing a short little flowing dress and an adorable fedora. You think, for about the thousandth time, how pretty she is. Like a doll.  

“Where have you been? I texted you all morning.” Her voice sounds annoyed, her eyes never leaving the pages of her book, and you pout.

“I picked up a shift.” You both have Mondays off, and usually you spend the day together. “I didn’t think it’d bother you.”

“It doesn’t.” She turns a page and doesn’t look at you.

“Umm, so, do you want to hang out?” You sit down next to her. She doesn’t respond, so you try a different tactic and trail a fingertip up her bare thigh. You’ve been hanging out for six months, and you’ve learned how to bring her out of her shell. “How about we find a pool somewhere. You. Me. Our Bikinis.”

“Jonah’s inside.”

You start, jerking your hand away, and look toward the house. “You could have led with that. What’d you text me for?”

“Where’s your phone?” Her voice is devoid of emotion and it’s starting to worry you.

You look sheepish as you admit, “I kinda lost it on Saturday night.”

“I know.”

Now you’re confused. “If you know then what’s with the attitude?”

She pulls your phone out of her bag and hands it to you.

“Sharon says you left your bra at her house.”

You stare at her shocked. This feels a lot like when you lied to her about your date. You gather yourself and chuckle carefully, “That’s definitely not what it sounds like.”

You look at your text messages, and the color drains from your face when you see that she’s also sent you some compromising photos. You hope Natasha didn’t see them, but you have a feeling she did.

“Did you go through my phone?”

“Why would you take a girl to my bar, leave your phone, and act like a total drunken child around my coworkers?”

Now you’re getting mad. “You don’t have a right to go through my phone, and anyway, your coworkers happen to be my friends too.”

“You’re rubbing it in my face, and it’s really immature. There’s like a million bars in Toronto. I don’t care who you-”

“Sleep with.” You finish the sentence for her, mocking her voice. “But actually, yeah, you do. Because you’re sure acting like a jealous girlfriend!”

You aren’t finished with the conversation, but the front door creaks open, and Jonah strolls out.

“There you are. The burgers are done. You coming to eat?”

You’d been hearing whoops and shouts from the backyard and assumed it was her roommates. You guess they must be barbecuing. He waves at you and smiles. He’s a good person, but you hate him.

“I’ll be there in just a minute.” She smiles at him, but you can see it doesn’t reach her eyes, and your heart is pounding, because you’re upset that she’s upset, and all you wanted to do was see her curvy little body in a black bikini and gold jewelry.

Jonah nods and looks between the two of you. He lets out a sigh and goes back in. The door slams behind him, and you wonder how much he knows.

She turns and faces you looking you square in the eye.

“No, I’m not acting like a jealous girlfriend. This isn’t about that. You embarrass me in front of my coworkers, and you sleep with anything that bats her eyes at you-”

“What do you care? You have a boyfriend. You don’t get to judge me. You don’t-” You’re yelling, and she covers your mouth.

“Shut up, people are going to hear you.”

You pull her hand off and get up in a huff. Your fists are clenched at your side. You start storming your way across the street, and she chases after you calling your name. You hear Jonah’s voice again, and he’s calling for her, and you think she must have stopped and turned back, because you make it to your apartment without interruption and slam the door. You take five minutes to calm down before you reach for your phone to text Sharon.

_Elise: Hey, sorry, I left my phone at the bar Sat night._

_Elise: You look hot in my bra._ _Wanna go swimming?_  

// 

Three weeks later you’re laying in bed. It’s been three days since Sharon ended things between you. You’d spent every day together, and then suddenly she just fed you some line like, “It’s not you. It’s me.” And that was it. She left your apartment, and you haven’t. You’ve gotten most of your shifts covered the past three days, but you had to call in today. It was a Sunday, and no one wanted to give up their Sunday off. You’ve been completely ignoring Natasha since your argument, but you’ve taken to looking longingly across the street at each other again. You hear a quiet knocking at your door, but you just pull a pillow over your head and turn the TV up.

You jump when you hear your door opening and then closing with a lock. You pull the covers up and try to hide.

“Elise. Hey, Elise. It’s me.”

You hear Natasha’s voice, and your grip on the covers goes slack. You frown. Then you feel her weight on your bed, and she’s tugging the covers off of your face.

“You look terrible.” She’s smiling at you.

“How did you get in here?”

“You leave your spare under the mat. Not very original, sweetie.”

“Don’t look at me,” you squeak. You haven’t showered, and you don’t want her to see you like this.

“I haven’t seen you in days. I got worried about you. Plus, Dan told me you haven’t been to work.”

You meet her eyes, and they’re concerned. “You went by my restaurant?” The ice in your veins is starting to melt, and you think maybe she does care about you after all.

She shrugs her shoulders. “I walk by your restaurant almost everyday on my way to work.”

You’re too sad to think about whether that’s true. You think it might be a block out of her way, but you’re not sure.

“So what’s with the stay-cation, sleepyhead?” She pushes some hair off your forehead. She’s being kind and nice, and it’s hard to resist her when she’s like this. All caring and attentive.

“Sharon dumped me.”

“Who cares. You were only together for like two weeks.”

You glare at her, and she looks down picking at her jeans.

“What I mean is…I’m sorry. That blows.”

You let out a sigh. “You couldn’t understand how I feel.”

“Try me.”

“You have Jonah. You don’t know what it’s like to be alone. Me, well, I can’t seem to find anyone.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes, and you feel so annoyed with yourself that it’s happening. You just hope you don’t go into full cry mode in front of her.

“Elise, that’s ridiculous. I can think of five people right now who would kill to date you.”

“Yeah. Like who?” You scoff.

“Like me.”

You push her arm, and she laughs, reaching down to tickle you. You squirm, and she lands on top of you pushing her hips against yours.

She raises an eyebrow. “Fucking always makes me feel better. You want to?” And you do, you always want to be with her, but your sadness feels bone deep, and you’re worried you won’t be able to do much but lie there.

“I’m on my period.”

“So, that didn’t stop us last time.”

You breathe out between clenched teeth, “You promised to never speak a word of that.”

“But you’re such a dirty little girl. It makes me wet every time I think about it.”

Your heart is skipping around against your ribcage, and she’s pressed against you, and you feel slick between your legs. You would do it if she pressed it, but really, you don’t know if you have it in you.

She’s looking you up and down, and she must see it in your eyes, because she gives up that line of thought, and hops off the bed.

“C’mon. This new place opened up down the street. I need a date.”

“What kind of place?”

“It’s a surprise.”

She’s pulling you up and dragging you to the bathroom. She turns the tap on and peels off your shorts and your tank top and helps you in the shower. When you get out there’s a fresh towel waiting for you. You think she must have run and grabbed it from her place, because yours are all dirty, and it doesn’t look familiar.  You walk out into your room, and it’s empty. You get dressed - a cute summer dress. You put on these little turquoise earrings you bought from an artists’ booth last spring. You put makeup on for the first time in days, braid your hair, and as you look in the mirror one last time, you actually feel pretty. When you walk out of the door Natasha’s waiting for you.

“You look beautiful.” She says it so simply, but it’s the first time she’s told you that, and you blush. She reaches for your hand, and you let her hold it even though it’s ninety degrees out. You’ve been walking for several blocks, and the sun feels good against your face, and Natasha’s hand is _holding_ yours in public. She stops in front of a dusty brick building with a metal door and a window full of band flyers. She opens the door for you and gestures for you to walk in first. You giggle. You’ve all but forgotten that you’re suppose to be in a fight. Sharon isn’t a thought in your mind.

“Wow, this place is awesome.” Her voice is full of awe as she follows you in, and you know that look in her eye. She is in heaven.

It’s a record store, and you don’t even know where to start, so you just trail after her. Every time she finds a vinyl from a band she likes, she pulls it out and shows you. It’s always followed by some memory of a concert or some person. The ones she really likes she tests on the record player. She tells you to pick one out and try it.

“I…I don’t know how. I’ve never used a record player.”

“I'll show you." She grabs Radiohead’s “The Bends,” and drags you to the record player. She takes the vinyl out of its sleeve and steps behind you. She puts it in your hands, your fingertips lightly gripping its edges, and she puts her hands over yours. She guides the record to the plate. “First, you set the speed select of the record player to the RPM setting of the record.” You turn your head to the side, and her face is so close to yours, and you want to kiss her, but you just bite your lip instead.

“Focus.” She looks at you like she’s having a hard time focusing too, but then she’s taking your hand, and you’re touching what you now know is the tone arm,

“Then, you just..." She makes you lift the tone arm, and guides your hand over to the groove at the outermost edge of the record. She pushes on your hand until the needle fits in the little groove. She presses a button and “The Bends” starts playing, and you wonder if she picked this song on purpose. You’re smiling because this is turning out to be an amazing day.

“See, it’s easy, right?” She says against your ear.

“Yeah.” You breathe out. She’s still behind you, and she wraps her arms around your waist, her chin on your shoulder. You lean back against her. Happiness is seeping in, coloring your black and white sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” She says it like a confession.

“I’m sorry too.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

“Yes I do.”

//

You start to take advantage of the times when she’s jealous. She doesn’t get much better at dealing with it. You’re out with mutual friends when you notice that she’s paying more attention to you than she normally does. You came separately, and Jonah came with her, and he’s got his hand casually draped around her shoulder like it’s his birthright. You wonder if her attention is because one of Jonah’s friends keeps buying you drinks. You both know you’re not interested, but it’s nice to have someone to keep you company and make you laugh. At one point his hand falls on your thigh, and you can practically feel Natasha’s eyes burning into you. You watch as she walks to the bathroom, and you follow her out of habit when a couple of minutes pass by. It’s just one stall, and when you try to open the door it’s locked. She’s there a minute later, and she opens the door and rolls her eyes when she sees you standing there.

“Can I help you?”

You bite your lip, and your toes are curling, and you don’t know how it’s possible months later that she still makes you nervous, but here you are with a heart like a hummingbird.

You walk into the bathroom, and she walks backwards in sync, and you lock the door without turning around to look.

“Maybe you can help me,” you hear yourself saying, “I’m really, really horny, and I’m thinking about fucking that boy out there unless I get a better offer.”

“You don’t fuck boys.”

“I think we both know how much I like to try new things.”

“You’re telling me that you’ll sleep with that guy later if I don’t fuck you right now?” She crosses her arms, and her tongue is tucked into her cheek, and she’s shaking her head in disbelief. She’s fucking adorable you think to yourself.

“If you’d just fuck me already we never have to find out.”

“No.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Fuck you.”

And she drags you to the wall and turns you around so your face is pressed against the cold tile. “You better be quick because I can’t be gone too long,” she breathes into your ear. You know why she can’t be too long but neither of you ever say it out loud. You’re nodding your head obediently as she rakes her nails down your back and drops to her knees.

“I love your little ass in this skirt,” she says as she squeezes it possessively. “I could just eat it up.”

And you gulp and squirm against the wall - not sure what she’s going to do. Your nipples are so hard they hurt, and you reach up to rub them yourself. She tugs your skirt down, and it pools at your feet.

“This is my ass.” She says as she bites down hard on it. You yelp, and she says, “Say it.”

“It’s your ass, Natasha. It’s only for you.”

“ _Fuck_ " she breathes out, then she’s kissing your ass and rubbing her face into it. Then she’s pulling it apart, and oh my god, she’s licking you there, and you’ve never done that. Then she’s pushing her tongue into it as she reaches between your legs with her hand, dipping her finger inside you, and then rubbing the wetness against your clit. It’s just the right pressure, and her fingertips circle unrelentingly. You’re beside yourself because you’ve never felt this kind of good before. She stands up, and she’s slipping a finger in where her wet tongue was, and holy fuck, she’s fucking you with her finger there, and her arm is wrapped around your waist rubbing your clit, and you can’t even think. You can feel her whole body pressed into your back as she hisses into your ear, "I knew you’d like this, you fucking slut.”

The noises you make are incoherent, and you come suddenly with a cry, legs shaking, slightly ashamed. Your hands are gripping the wall, and you let them fall to your side. You try to turn around, but she pushes you in place against the cold surface. 

“Hey, ouch!”

You’re starting to feel self-conscious as you look over your shoulder and see her grinning at your ass. You try to get away again, but her hand is firm against the small of your back.

“Don’t move I want to get a picture.”

“Of what?!” Your voice is slightly panicked now.

“My lipstick stains all over your ass. I like it.”

“No. No way.”

You’re struggling now to turn around, but she keeps you pinned against the wall. Her tits are pressed against your back, and she’s whispering in your ear, her tone uncharacteristically gentle.

“C’mon babe. I want to be able to look at it whenever you’re not around.”

Your heart is melting in your chest, and you’re berating yourself because it is _not_ sweet that someone wants a picture of your bare ass with lipstick stains on it, but somehow it is coming from her. So you let her. You always let her have what she wants. She takes out her iPhone and makes you stay still before snapping a photo, and your face burns red. Your heart does flips as she turns you around, and you see her again for the first time since you came into the bathroom. You speak because otherwise you think you might die of embarrassment.

“It’s really cute that you miss my ass so much when I’m gone.” You’re smiling with closed lips as you pull your skirt back on. You wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her in as she tucks her phone in her back pocket. You bat your eyes as she rolls hers.

“Shut the fuck up, Elise." 

"No, you shut the fuck up. I know you love me now.” You say it playfully, but your heart flutters wondering if you crossed a line when you can’t make out the expression on her face. 

“I _said_ shut the fuck up.” Suddenly she’s clamping a hand over your mouth, a glint in her eyes, and you gasp in surprise and bite down. She smiles like ice, leaving her hand over your mouth, taking the pain. “You’re going to pay for that you little bitch.” 

You’re instantly wet again, because that’s her ‘I’m going to fuck you’ face, and sure enough, her hand is up your skirt and her fingers are inside you, and she’s pumping so hard that it aches, and you’re coming again fast as she tells you how easy you are. She lets her hand fall from your mouth, and kisses your bruised lips gently, trailing more along your jaw, easing you back into reality with a slow finger as your body jerks softly from the last waves of your orgasm. 

"Are you satisfied, princess? Can I go back to my friends now?” She says as she straightens your skirt, smacking your ass playfully when she’s done.

You nod and bite your lip as she pulls away to fix her makeup. You stare at her through the mirror while she reapplies her lipstick.

I love you, you think quietly.

 I love you.

//

A couple of months later Natasha’s giving you head at 8am, because you begged her to come over and have morning sex with you before your shift. She shows up at your door like a sleepy puppy even though she told you she wasn’t coming over, and you kiss her awake. Because of your filming schedule you haven’t seen each other in two weeks, and you tell her you thought you were going to die from it, and she tells you to stop being a drama queen.  There’s morning light everywhere, and her mouth is on you lazy, her tongue swirling soft circles between your legs. Your back and neck are sticky with sweat, and you’re clutching the tangled sheet. It feels so nice. You like her in the morning, because she’s always gentle then, and because it all feels more real somehow. You sigh and hum and she takes her time. As you come you tell her you love her, and you’re so used to saying it in your head that it didn’t register at first. When it does, you squeeze your eyes shut, and you cover your face with a hand, and you don’t know if she’s ready for this conversation. She drags herself up and settles between your legs, holding herself up with hands pressed into the mattress at either side of your head. Her eyes are parallel with yours.

“No. You love _fucking_ me.” She pulls your hand from your face and looks at you expectantly.

"No. Well, yes, I do. But that’s not what I meant.” You try to correct her, but she doesn’t get it.

She doesn’t want to get it, you think, after some time passes. You tell her you love her on a few different occasions, and she doesn’t say it back. You painfully and slowly realize that she likes you as a friend, and as a submissive lover who will do anything for her in bed, but she doesn’t love you. She loves Jonah. You can tell by her eyes when she watches him chop vegetables for dinner. You can tell by the way she runs her fingers absentmindedly through his hair. You can tell by how hard you’ve seen him make her come. 

You rarely make her come. She’s made you come so many times you couldn’t possibly count. When you do make her come it’s always something kinky like her forcing your hand down her pants, riding it while you try to pull it away, threatening that you better make her come or she’ll fuck you again. Sometimes you make her fuck you again instead, because you’re afraid you can’t make her come. She fucks you angry, leaving bruises all over, and you think she likes that just the same. 

//

After a year of this you aren’t dating anyone, and your life revolves around her and her social events, and you neglect your friends, and you’re drunk and sobbing one day at a music festival because she wants to go with Jonah to another stage, but you want to stay at this one to watch your favorite singer songwriter play. She tells you to just meet up with them after, but you want her to stay. You want her to _want_ to stay and listen to your favorite artist. You want her to wrap her arms around you in a crowd. You want all of her, and you’re sobbing, because she’s going with Jonah to the Budweiser stage. You know it’s stupid, and you’re drunk, and you probably look like a child throwing a fit, but you don’t care. Jonah tugs on her hand, and she follows him, but she turns around to look back at you, and when she does you taste the salt from your tears. It reminds you of how she tastes, and you make a promise to yourself with a conviction you didn’t know you had.

//

You pull away from her in many ways after that day. You move to a different apartment in another neighborhood twenty minutes away. You successfully ignore her for six months until one day she shows up on your doorstep. Your heart panics like a stampede in your chest when you see her through the window. You were never together, but it feels like the worst breakup you’ve ever been through. You tried to date other people, but you weren’t ready. Their hands were all wrong and their smells were all off, and you’d come home relieved that it was over.

You debate whether or not to let her in. But of course you let her in. You have no will power when it comes to her. That’s why you moved in the first place. The first thing you notice is how pretty she is. It’s always the first thing you notice.

“Hey.” She’s standing inside now like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you’re staring at her at a loss for words, and then it comes to you suddenly,

“How do you know where I live?”

She stares at you with no shame and says, “I followed you the day you left.”

“That’s-that’s stalking,” you sputter out. You’re mad at yourself for feeling flattered that she’d cared enough to follow you. Your instincts are all wrong when it comes to her.

“Oh, please. I thought we were friends. How was I suppose to know you were going to ignore me forever?”

You shrug and turn to walk over to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine. “Well, if you knew I was here what took you so long?” You try and hide the hurt from your voice when you think about how she didn’t fight for you at all. She just let you go.

“I actually did come to see you sooner. A few months ago. You were just getting home. I watched you walking inside with a girl, and you seemed friendly, so I figured you were busy.” She’s looking harder at you now, and you look away. You know exactly what night she’s talking about. And what are the odds that the only time you brought someone home, Natasha showed up?

She continues when you don’t acknowledge her admission, “What took _you_ so long to come and see me?” She spits out, and you can tell her feelings are hurt, and that’s new.

“I probably told you in one hundred texts how I feel. I - I love you. I’m _in_ love with you, Natasha. I can’t be your little fuck buddy puppy following you around. I’m sorry, but I can’t see you anymore. I can’t.” You run your hand through your hair trying to avoid her eyes. She doesn’t say anything so eventually you look up at her.

Her shirt is sheer and you can see her lacy black bra and her flat pale stomach. You feel your arousal stirring, and the temptation to give into it is suffocating. It would be so easy to just let everything go back to the way it was. It would make the nightmare of living without her stop. You haven’t taken your eyes off her chest yet, and she’s walking closer to you, and then there is no distance between you, and she’s grabbing your neck and kissing you and telling you, “Fuck that. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine.” And she’s repeating it as she slips her hand under your shirt and massages your breasts, and your head falls back, and you arch into her touch, sighing in pleasure, or maybe relief, you aren’t sure. She leans her forehead against yours, and you remember yourself.

"No.” You say it firmly, but she stays rigid against you, her forehead gentle against yours, and she won’t let you move her hand. She has you pinned between the counter and her body.

“Just for tonight,” she says, gripping your ass and pulling your hips into hers. “Then you can go back to forgetting that I exist.”

And you’re melting because normally she would just take you, but she knows it’s different now, and she knows she has to ask, and the difference breaks your resolve, because you’re in love with her, and you’re in pain, and here she is to relieve it.

“I don’t ever want to forget you exist,” you breathe out. She grins victoriously as she hits her knees, tearing off your wet panties, pushing your dress up past your hips, hitching your leg over her shoulder. You come into her mouth embarrassingly fast, and at first she doesn’t stop, but your legs won’t hold you up anymore, so she drags you to your bed. She’s on top of you, and she’s telling you that she misses your soft little mouth eating her out, and she rides your face, and at one point you can barely breathe, and you think you could die happy just like this. And when she comes she says your name.

Then she flips you over and pushes your face into the mattress. She seems angry as she bites her way down your back, and she’s squeezing your hips so hard that you know you’ll bruise. She’s digging her nails in everywhere, and it scares you, but you’ve missed her so much that you think you would let her tear you to pieces if she wanted to. It doesn’t take you long to realize she’s punishing you. You say you’re sorry, you’ll do anything, you’ll let her fuck you any way she wants, and she does - all night. You lose track of how many times you come, but you remember how many times she does because it’s a record three times, and you wonder for the first time if maybe she could love you too. You ask her if she’s still with Jonah, but you know the answer. When she leaves you cry.

//

You still fuck sometimes, but it’s not anywhere near as often as it used to be. Sometimes you’ll spend a whole weekend in bed at your place and then go four or five months without seeing each other. It’s harder now that you live farther away, and your lives are so different.

Eventually you get a girlfriend. You keep fucking Natasha when she wants to. You think there might be something wrong with you, because you don’t feel bad about it. You’ve given up on the idea of living a life where you aren’t in love with her.

Before every major decision you make you tell her she can be with you if she wants. That you love her. But she never takes you up on your offer. Her apology is sex. You think there might be something wrong with her. Sometimes you think it’s your fault, because you can’t see an opera without dragging her hands between your legs, and you can’t get a drink without inviting her back to your place, and you can’t breathe when she leaves, so you make her stay by promising her all the filthy things she can do to your body.

Sometimes you wonder how Jonah’s better than you. Mostly though, you don’t want to know. You run in the same circles, and so you’re friends with him strangely enough. You actually like him aside from the fact that his existence ruins everything.  

//

You meet Annie after a few years. You’ve never been with anyone who treats you so well, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. She’s an attorney, and she’s as opposite from Natasha as humanly possible. You didn’t mean for it to be like that, but you’re happy it is. When you have sex with Annie you always make love. You stop sleeping with Natasha as often as you used to. She asks you a million times if it’s because you’re in love with Annie. Each time you tell her no, but it’s a lie, because you don’t think Natasha can handle this particular truth.

Annie’s favorite thing to do is to show you the world. You think it’s because somehow she knows that your body has already been explored, and she wants to give you something new. When you travel, there’s always a small moment when you imagine Natasha next to you, seeing it all too. Her smiling back at you with the pyramids at Giza in the background, her in a bikini boating around the Grecian archipelago, her holding your hand while you gaze upon Machu Picchu, her tickling you underwater in the Great Barrier Reef, her cold lips kissing yours in a wintery New York. She’s always with you. It doesn’t come from a place of sadness though, because you love being with Annie. It’s more like a glimpse into a parallel universe for just a moment.

Annie asks you to marry her with tears in her eyes on the Spanish Steps in Rome, and you say yes. You tell Nat when you get back, and she says congratulations, but she doesn’t touch you that day. You bat your eyes at her, and you ask if she wants to.

“Want to what?” She pretends like she doesn’t understand.

“Fuck me or marry me. Either one.” You aren’t joking, and she knows you aren’t joking. She doesn’t answer. She just walks you back to your car and hugs you goodbye. She won’t make eye contact. Your heart aches for her.

//

You and Annie have a baby, and you’re scared, but she wants this, and so then you do too. You tell Natasha that Annie’s pregnant at the coffee shop she works at, and she tells you that you’ll make a great mom. She jokes about how she’s always had a thing for milfs, and you laugh but your heart isn’t in it. She fucks you later on during her lunch break and makes you call her daddy, and you come harder than you have in a long time. You wonder if she wants kids because it never occurred to you to ask.

//

You and Natasha stop talking after the baby is born. She’s just over a year old now. The last time you were together, it’s in her car, and Annie calls in the middle of it. For the first time Natasha stops, and she won’t let you come, and she won’t let you touch her, and you have no idea what she wants. Eventually she tells you she never wanted any of this for you. You tell her you want all of it and more, and she shakes her head, and you get mad finally. You throw things, and you scream, and you never want to see her again. You pull back farther from her than you ever have until one day Annie insists you guys take the baby to see Jonah and Natasha.

They bought the same old house you used to live across from. You hate being there. Your wife misses them though, and it’s a big reason why you haven’t cut Nat off for good. They all get along so well. Better than you do with them you think, but that’s because you’re hurt. You’re always wounded around Natasha. She cuts into you fresh every time. When she stares at you with possessive eyes your heart bangs against your chest as if you were still twenty-one and hopeful, walking down this same street, desperate for her attention. You hate the way she says your name, like it’s hers, like she knows all your darkest secrets - it’s because you are and she does, but it hurts, because you’re sentenced to live as strangers.

It’s hard to hide your feelings, because you haven’t seen her in so long. Your eyes search for her and they follow her movements. You’re wet and sad all at once. If Annie knows, she’s never said a word about it. 

The baby’s cooing in the same living room Natasha used to fuck you in, and you feel torn, like two people at once. Natasha’s sex slave. A mother and wife. Same room but different lives. Your head spins from it and the gin and tonic in your hand. You rarely drink anymore, but today you do. You reach down to wipe the baby’s face and gently smooth her hair to the side. She gurgles “mama” and tears spring to your eyes. You get up quickly and head for the kitchen with some dishes. You set them in the sink and lean on the counter with both hands. How is it possible to love your life and hate your life with equal force? You hear a door bang somewhere behind you, and you realize all they must have gone to the yard. Annie loved their perfect fucking yard.

“Elise.”

You spin around and there’s her goddamn perfect face. You can see every bit of it because her hair’s pulled back into a messy bun. She’s looking at you, and you can see your pain reflected there, or maybe it’s her pain. You wonder how you’ve never noticed it before.

“You don’t return my calls or texts anymore.” She starts forward but thinks better of it and stays rooted on the spot. “I know - I know you’re a new mom. I just miss you.”

You’re melting, because you don’t think you’ve ever heard her say that she misses you. Misses having sex with you? Yes. Misses a body part of yours? Yes. But never just you. Her eyes are so wide and honest, and you’re mad at her for everything. You grab her by her shirt and yank her into the laundry room, closing the door behind you.

“Fuck me,” you pant, and she’s already dragging her nails up the sides of your thighs, hitching your dress up past your hips. Her mouth meets yours, and it’s on fire. Your face feels wet, and you’re worried you’re crying but suddenly you realize she is. She’s crying.

“Nat, what’s the matter?”

She’s shaking her head and cutting you off, “It’s nothing. It’s nothing.”

You grab her face and lick the tears away as she enters you with three fingers, and you’re full of her, and she’s going so slow and soft, using her hips to push into you deeper, and you’re building up with a pure pleasure that you rarely get with her. She’s kissing your neck and all over your face, and it’s gentle when she touches your breasts with her free hand, brushing your hard nipples with a thumb. She’s just staring into your eyes, and she’s not saying anything. You wait for what she wants, because by now you’d be a bad little girl who needs a good fucking, or a slut, or you’d take it whether you wanted it or not. She finally speaks, and it’s as if she can read your mind, 

“I just want it like this. I know you like it differently, but I just want it like this." 

You shake your head. She still doesn’t get it. It’s not the kinky sex that makes it better with her than anyone else - it’s just her. It’s her.

She’s touching you everywhere, inside and out, and worry tugs at your mind because she’s taking her time. She’s explored you before, but this isn’t like that. This feels like something else, and you feel something like a sob rising in your chest as you think to yourself -

It’s a goodbye.

And as you come, your mind devastated, your body singing, you hear her saying,"I love you. I love you. I love you.” Over and over again. And you laugh, because it’s crazy. You must be going crazy. And you laugh, because you realize she’s making love to you. 

“Why are you laughing?” She’s confused and hurt, and suddenly your amusement turns to anger.

How dare she tell you that. How dare she be hurt. After you’ve loved her for so long. After she refused to love you for almost a decade. After you’re married with a child. You tell her that much as you burst out of the laundry room. 

“I know - I know.” She’s practically yelling, and everyone’s going to come in, and you’ll be found out if you can’t keep her quiet. But Jonah knows about you two. He always knew, and he had his limits, but he always covered for you. You think it’s because he loves Natasha and wants her to be happy. Jealously stabs your heart like a knife. Would you be able to make the same sacrifice for her? You think to yourself that you would never share her. That’s why she’s with him, and you’re not.  

“I’ve been so sad for so long, and I didn’t know why. And I saw you with the baby and Annie, and I realized it. I know it’s a shitty time to realize it. But I saw what my life could be and - ”

“And you decided to try and ruin mine so you could have yours. You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever known.”

“I’m fucking in love with you. I’ve always been in love with you.”

“You’ve always been in love with Jonah, Natasha. I know. I was there for all of it. You never chose me. Not even once.”

“If this is about that stupid music festival-”

You let out a frustrated sound, and your hands are in fists, and she can tell she’s losing you, so she keeps going,

“Okay. Okay, look. I do love Jonah. And there was a time when I thought I loved him more. But I’ve been wrong the whole time. I love you more. I can’t be happy without you. It’s killing me.”

And you see Annie’s confused face emerge from behind her, the baby on her hip. You see Jonah lean against the door frame with his arms crossed. He’s looking down at his boots. 

“Annie. We’re just having a fight. Just grab our coats, honey.” You try to smooth the situation over, but Annie is sharp. It’s one of the things you love about her.

She rounds in on Natasha, and the baby starts crying, and she says, “What are you talking about Natasha? What do you mean you love her more than Jonah?” She’s shaking her head in disbelief as Natasha ignores her. Natasha has eyes for only you.

“Annie, our coats, please,” you beg, finally taking your eyes off of Natasha to look at your wife and baby.

Natasha is just staring at you silently, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes brimming with hurt and betrayal. You walk around her as Annie pulls the baby’s jacket on.

You leave the house, and you don’t see her for a year.

//

Annie takes a job in the states, and you go with her. You buy a ticket to visit your friends in Toronto on a whim, and it causes a fight because she can’t come. She has the baby and work. You tell her that it’s okay, she has nothing to worry about, and you’ll be back in a week. She doesn’t talk to you the day you leave.

//

You’re two days into your trip when you see him at the record store. You turn to leave, but he sees you before you can escape. He hugs you and tells you he didn’t know you were in town. He looks over your shoulder for Annie, but you tell him she didn’t come. You stubbornly refuse to look for Natasha, but there’s hope ballooning in your chest at the thought of seeing her, and he tells you about some new project he’s working on. He shifts gears, and you pick up on it, and he says it’s been hard, and he asks if you’ve talked to Natasha.  Your eyes jerk up to meet his because you don’t understand. He sees your confusion, and he touches your arm and bends his knees to get closer to eye level with you as he says,

“She left me, Elise. She left me a year ago.”

You know you should try to hide your feelings, but it feels like you’ve been slammed into by a semi, so you try to collect yourself, and you manage to say,

“No. No, I didn’t know.”

You leave the record store with a palpitating heart, and you clutch your chest and try to get your breath. You’re walking, and it takes you a few blocks, but you realize you’re walking to your old street. You don’t even know if she lives there anymore, but the urge to just be there is outside of your control. The cold wind bites at your face, but it feels good, because it anchors your body in the present while your mind works through the past.

You stand by your old apartments across the street from her house, and you see your ghosts meeting for the first time, and you can hear your laughter from ten years ago ringing through the street. You remember her eyes, and it plays like a home movie. You remember what her hands felt like on your body when she took you like you were already hers that first time. You think you’re probably the biggest fool there is, because you have a family, but all you can think about is a girl who wouldn’t love you.

You’ve been standing there for at least an hour, desperately trying to remember every moment. You don’t want to forget anything. It’s not dark yet, but it will be soon. You hear her voice, and it’s incredulous, and it’s like a hand reaching in and squeezing your beating heart. She runs up to you, and she’s rubbing the warmth back into your arms, and she’s asking you what you’re doing there, and you say,

“I’m looking for you.”

She smiles and stares at you like she can’t believe her eyes, and she takes you inside the house, and once you step over the threshold you hear a man’s voice call from the kitchen,

“Hey babe, who was that?”

And you’re speechless because you didn’t expect it. Any of this. And you look at her accusingly, and she’s saying,

“I’ll tell him to leave.”

“No, this was a bad idea,” you say, turning back for the door.

“No, don’t go. Please. Don’t go.” She pushes the door shut behind you and blocks it with her body.

And you’re mad. You have no right to be mad, but you’re furious. She won’t move, and you try to push her out of the way, and when that doesn’t work you bang on her chest with balled up fists, and you’re crying like an idiot, and she’s trying to wrap her arms around you to keep you still. You hear someone rounding the corner behind you, and you turn and wipe your eyes, and it’s a familiar face. It takes a second, but it’s the same guy you told her you were going to fuck in that bar years ago. He was friends with Jonah.

“Wow.” And you’re actually speechless, and you’re telling him that you were just leaving, and she’s telling you that you’re staying, and he’s pulling his jacket on, because he didn’t sign up for this. She doesn’t even say goodbye to him as he leaves. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of you, you think with a thrill. You squeeze yours shut, because what the fuck are you happy for? This isn’t happy.

“What was that?” Your anger is tempered by curiosity, because you don’t fucking understand her.

“He’s just a friend.”

“Is he a friend like I was a friend?”

“You were never my friend.”

And you scoff, but then she’s kissing you. She’s grabbing your neck and pulling you in, and you hear your phone vibrating, and you know it’s your friends wondering where you are. You try to push her away, because you’re not sure, you’re not sure, but she won’t let you. She has you in her arms like a vice.

“Please,” she begs, and you remember all the times you begged her to fuck you when she wasn’t sure. You relent, and she feels your defeat like a victory. You don’t stand a chance against her, and you never have. You wrap your arms around her, one at the small of her back, one at her neck, as your mouths crash together again. There are hands roaming everywhere, and she’s backing you into the living room, and pushing you down on the couch, and she pulls her sweater off.

Her eyes are liquid black looking down at you, but she’s got this half smile on her face like she still can’t believe it. Like she’s going to have to fuck you before she can believe it. You both work to pull your clothes off, and she pushes her body down between your thighs. She holds your face in her hands, and she says she loves you. Then she’s kissing you everywhere, and after everything she kisses she says,

“I love this nose. I love this belly button. I fucking love this clit,” and it’s ridiculous, and you’re laughing with tears in your eyes.

She peppers kisses on your ribcage and tells you that she hasn’t breathed since you left. She bites down where your heart is, and you inhale a shaky breath, and she asks you if it’s broken. When you nod she says she’s sorry. She’s so sorry.

You tell her she has a lot to make up for as she slips her fingers inside of you.

She tells you she’ll spend the rest of her life trying. 


	2. My Love to Wreck it All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same story, but Nat's POV. There is some explicit stuff going on in this fic, so please don't read if you have any triggers.

This stupid, old house has been your home ever since you moved back to Toronto two years ago. The appliances are ancient, it’s too cold in the winter, too hot in the summer, and everything is always breaking, but you can’t imagine living anywhere but right here. You have a porch, and a yard, and you can walk nearly everywhere you want to go. You’re on the stoop hosing off a dog bed that’s covered in piss when you see a girl you’ve never noticed before. She’s walking her bike into the apartments across the street from you. She must have just moved in, because you would remember her. Her hair is golden brown and her eyes are kind. Her smile is half of her face and makes your heart race when you see it. Her sun dress looks perfect hanging from her petit frame. She’s the effortless kind of beauty that you’ve always envied. You can tell she would look exactly the same in the morning with no make up. The girl that’s walking with her is a redheaded butch, and you try not to get your hopes up that her choice of company means she’s into girls.

You see her a few days later staring at you as you get into your friend’s car, and you know for sure she likes you now. It’s dark, but she holds your gaze with a small smile for far too long to not like what she sees. You turn around to keep looking through the back window, and you can see that she’s still looking too.

You eventually introduce yourself, and you can tell she’s nervous. It’s adorable, and you bite your lip, because it’s all you can do to not pounce on her. When you finally do fuck her you think it’ll be a one time thing, because Jonah’s girlfriend broke up with him, and you’ve wanted him for forever, and now he’s yours. 

It turns out to not be a one time thing, because once you slipped your fingers inside of her, and her little arms wrapped around your shoulders, you became a fucking addict. You craved her innocence, her soft skin shuddering against you, her pretty fucking mouth moaning your name. The only thing you loved more than making her come was Jonah making you come.

// 

You’re grocery shopping at the market on the corner when you see her pushing a cart through the dry goods isle. The last time you saw her was the first time you’d hooked up a few days ago. You’d walked her back to her apartment in the early morning hours, and she’d nervously pecked your cheek before running inside and closing the door. You smile involuntarily as you watch her face scrunch up in concentration trying to decide between paper towel brands.

You bite your lip as you develop a plan. You take a single flower stem from your arm basket. They’re meant for your kitchen table, but this seems like a much better use for them. You walk by casually as she’s looking intensely at a roll of recycled paper towels. You drop the flower in her basket, and then lean against the stacks, waiting for her to see you.

She looks down, putting the roll in her cart, and it takes a second, but she sees the flower and startles. She picks it up and smells it before raising her head and looking around for the perpetrator.

“Natasha!” Her smile is big and bright and your heart thumps unevenly in your chest. “Did you put this here?”

“Do you have many suitors at this grocery store?”

“Well, there is this cashier…” She trails off as you walk into her personal space.

“Do you have plans right now?” Your fingers are curled around the metal wires of her cart.

She laughs nervously, tucking some hair behind her ear, “Well, besides shopping and taking my groceries home? No.”

“I could help with that. I’m really good at carrying groceries inside in one trip.”

“What’s in it for you?” She bats her eyes because she knows exactly what’s in it for you.

“I have some things in mind.” You stare at each other for a moment longer than you should.

You glance into her cart and see quinoa, kale, and sweet potatoes, and you groan. “Tell me you’re not one of those girls?”

She sees you eyeing her cart.

“Quinoa, really?” You pick it up.

She snatches the little box out of your hands. “There’s nothing wrong with living a healthy lifestyle.” She leans into you, looking to either side, before whispering, “You wanna know a secret about me that you’ll hate even more?”

You raise an eyebrow, playing her little game, “Yeah, I do.” Your face is very close to hers now.

“I just got back from yoga. I go for an hour almost everyday,” she whispers, staring more at your lips than your face.

“That’s it. We’re over.” You joke, spinning out of her reach.

She giggles. “Hey, not so fast. You promised to carry my groceries in.”

 

When she finally puts the last item, a carton of soymilk, into her fridge, you grab her by the hips, and pull her backwards into you. She squeals and turns, wrapping her hands around your biceps for balance. 

“Fucking. Fucking is definitely what’s in it for me,” you tell her as you press her back against the fridge.

//

You people watch as you lean against the bar. They walk by in t-shirts and shorts, buzzing with spring energy. A man sits down, and you ask, “What’ll you have?” It sends you reeling back in time.

 

“How do you want me?” She says, taking off her clothes and walking to your bed. You tell her to leave her panties on, and you make her come through them twice. You rip the ruined cotton off eventually. Her finger tips are trailing down your body, and she’s staring between your legs.

“ _Please_ let me go down on you.” She’s squirming around and looking at you with big eyes now, but you don’t let her.

“That’s my job,” you say, your mouth watering. You flip her over and eat her out from behind watching the way her ribcage expands like a starving dog’s. You make a mental note to stop after this round and get her some food.

 

You hear the bell on the door of the bar jingle as more customers pour in. A regular leaves, dropping some cash on the table. “Later, Natasha.”

Your mind goes back again. A week ago. You’re on the hammock in the backyard. She’s straddling you and kissing you all over your face. Her hair is everywhere, and the sun’s in it. She came over without asking in a cute little dress and nothing on underneath. She found you napping there and crawled on top of you. The hammock rocks unsteadily, and you wake up to her dragging your hand beneath her dress and pushing your fingers inside of her. You don’t say anything, you just finger her slow and lazy for twenty minutes in the breeze. You don’t take your eyes off of hers the whole time. It’s warm, and quiet, and she’s gasping for breath. You think she might hyperventilate until you finally press your fingers against her clit, circling soft and slow, and she comes gripping your shoulders, her little legs trembling around you.

“Can you feel that?” She’s laying on you in the hammock now, her head tucked under your chin.

“Feel what?”

“That thumping.”

You laugh carefree. She’s childlike sometimes, and it’s infectious. “I can’t feel any thumping anymore, princess. Earlier…maybe.”

She ignores your innuendo. “I think it’s your heartbeat.” She whispers. “Be quiet for a sec.”

You feel your face heat up.

“Are you nervous about something?” She continues. You look down at her. Her ear is against your chest, and she’s listening with a fascinated expression on her face. She’s so pretty, you think.

Your chest _is_ thumping. You’re aware of it now. It’s beating strong and fast beneath her weight.

“No, of course not. Why would I be nervous?” You chuckle, but your tone is defensive.

“Maybe it’s beating fast because of me.” She looks at you with sparkling eyes and a smile on her face. You feel dizzy.

“Maybe,” you say.

Definitely, you think.

Suddenly you remember what you had planned before she showed up unexpectedly. You sit up fast, and she slides down in your lap, her face centimeters from yours.

So, so pretty. But. “What time is it? _Shit_. You have to leave. Jonah will be here soon.” Your hands are roaming for your phone, but you must have left it inside.

She rolls her eyes and kisses your mouth, her hips moving against you. “I don’t care about Jonah.”

“Well, I do.” You stop her rolling hips with your hands, and it’s difficult, but you pull yourself out from under her. You tell her to wait just a second. You’ll walk her to her place as soon as you find your shoes.

She just stumbles out of the hammock, throws a “Later, Natasha” over her shoulder, and walks away. You don’t hear from her for a few days.

After a few hours the happy hour rush streams in, and you force yourself to stop thinking about her.

You’re home from work now, and you’re standing in your living room absentmindedly gazing through the window. Jonah walks up behind you, stirring you from your thoughts, and you sink into his touch as he wraps his hands around your waist.

“What do you want to do for dinner, babe?”

“Anything.” Your chest expands at his touch, and you breathe him in. You love the way he smells. He kisses your head and walks to the kitchen. You hope that means he’s making you guys something to eat, because you don’t really feel like going out.

That’s when you see her in the street. You walk up and move the curtain to get a better look. She’s wearing a tight black dress and heels, and she’s done something with her hair and makeup that makes her look different. You smile knowing that you’re the one who makes her come. No one knows that your head works between her legs, that her hard nipples graze against your back, that your skin touches everywhere. That she could have anyone she wanted, but instead, she lets you have her anyway you want. When you think about it, you realize it’s been a week since the hammock, and you haven’t seen her since. You want to text her, but Jonah’s here, and it’s your date night with him, and you’ve been looking forward to this all week.

You’re about to follow him into the kitchen when you see a girl parking right in front of your house. On your side of the street. She gets out of her car and gives Elise a hug. The girl’s arm drapes along Elise’s lower back, and Elise tip toes up to wrap her arms around her shoulders. It’s brief, but there’s something about it that seems…intimate to you. You can see the girl has tattoos and an interesting look. She would be your type except her hands are on Elise. You feel something sharp in your chest as she opens the car door for her.

She’s going on a date. Your thoughts finally convalesce enough to make sense of what you’re seeing.

“Oh,” you say out loud.

 //

You’re making a line of lemon drops for a group of girls at the bar when she walks in with some of her friends. You only recognize a couple of them, and judging by her raucous laughter and the slight sway of her gait, she’s already started drinking. You find her particularly irritating when she’s drunk because she’s either horny or crying by the end of the night, and there is literally no in between. If you don’t fuck her she cries, and sometimes if you do, she still cries.

You see a tall redhead nudging her with an elbow and whispering into her ear, and then she’s walking up to you. You put the shots on the counter, and close out a check, and she leans against the bar, batting her eyelashes. Her shirt is cut too low, you think, and when she moves her arms you see her toned belly. It looks good.

“Hey.” She makes little circles against the wood with her fingertip.

“Hey yourself.”

She smiles and you feel your heartbeat pick up. Her smile is hard to look at sometimes, like the sun. “Listen, do you think you could hook us up with a round of shots? We’re kind of broke right now.”

“Why would I do that? I enjoy having a job.”

“C'mon, you give me drinks all the time,” her words are slurring a little.

“I fuck you. I don’t fuck them.” One of the bar-backs snickers as he collects the empty shot glasses, and you shoot him a look to mind his own business.

The bar is getting crowded, and you take the orders of some people standing behind her. She looks back over her shoulders at her friends and shrugs, shaking her head. Then she’s turning around to stare at you pathetically again, twisting her hair around one of her fingers. When you’re done popping the tops off of a bucket of beers, you pour her a few sympathy shots.

“Don’t be such a cry baby. Take these before I change my mind.” She smiles big and promises you that she’ll pay you back if you _ever_  stop by her restaurant. It’s a pointed comment because you never do. You grunt in response, and take a few more orders, and she gets the hint and practically skips back over to her friends with the tray of shots.

You sigh and ring up the shots when you get a minute. You know you’ll have to take the cost of them out of your tips. You look back over a few minutes later, and she’s snuggled into the tall redhead now, and you squint your eyes in disbelief. It seems more than friendly as she looks up at her the way she normally looks at you. You don’t, like, care, but it’s just the fact that she would use you for free shots and then cozy up to some other girl right in front of your face. It’s just fucking tactless.

 She comes back over but you’re slammed, and you see her talking to the other bartender. He’s laughing and pouring her some water, and she almost falls off of the bar stool. You instinctually jerk toward her, but the redhead catches her and then leaves her hands on her waist, and you want to go over there and tell them all to get the fuck out. Instead you ignore her for the rest of the night. You’re in the worst mood, and your coworkers notice and leave you alone.

She throws up in the bathroom, and Jess makes you clean it up because you’re better friends with her than she is, even though it was Jess who was feeding her shots all night after you told her to stop. They work a happy hour for some monthly event together. You forgot they were even friends. You couldn’t possibly be more irritated with the situation. You look over at the toilet paper holder and see her phone resting there. You put it in your pocket, and by the time you get back out to the bar, she’s gone. You’ll just drop it by her apartment on the way home.

 It doesn’t actually occur to you that she wouldn’t be home. At three in the morning. You have a pretty good idea of where she is, and you grit your teeth. It doesn’t fucking matter. She can do whatever she wants.

You didn’t mean to go through her phone, but it won’t stop vibrating by your head at around noon the next day. You slip out of bed, shower, and brush your teeth. You wander back over to it as it lights up again. You see the name Sharon, and you’re curious enough to unlock it. There’s a code, and you try a few things, and it ends up being four zeros in a row. She’s so predictable.

You see a bunch of texts from a few different people that surprise you. Your hunch that Sharon is the tall redhead is right. Your hunch that they definitely fucked last night is right too. You think about throwing it out your window, but instead you put it on your charger and think about ending things with her. You’re not hurt because she slept with someone else, and is clearly flirting with other people judging by her texts, you’re just fucking pissed because she lied to you again. She told you she wasn’t seeing anyone when you asked. She told you last Saturday she stayed in when clearly she was with Sharon that night too.

You spend more time with Jonah for the next few days than you normally do, and when she comes skipping up to you on Monday, you hand her the phone. You confront her, and it doesn’t go well. She lies to you again. You think you don’t care. You want to end it anyway, but when she leaves you feel panicked. There’s nothing you can do about it because Jonah’s standing there waiting for you.

She doesn’t answer your texts for three weeks, and you wish you would have stuck to your original plan of ignoring her, because knowing that _she’s_ the one ignoring you is driving you crazy. 

You make up eventually, and you’re sorry when you see how sad you’ve made her. She’s lonely, and you think that’s crazy because she’s surrounded by people all of the time. You know she wants more. She wants someone to be with. Instead of thinking about that, you buy her a stupid record player, and you regret it immediately, because every time you come over she plays it incessantly. The day after you got it, she made you stop fucking her because she wanted to put on another record, and you told her you were going to return it.

“I’ve created a monster.”

“Oh, c'mon, it would have taken two seconds.”

“I’d like to think you couldn’t possibly be thinking about music when I’m eating you out.”

She giggles and wraps her arms around you, squeezing you tight.

“You’re so vulgar.”

“You love it.” You’re nipping at her neck now.

“Yeah, I do.” It’s the last thing she says besides your name for the next hour.

//

He’s screaming at you, and you’re shaking, because you love him, and he’s the only thing good that you even halfway deserve, and you can’t lose him. You don’t know how to be without him anymore.

“Just go fucking be with her! Why are we even doing this?”

“I don’t want to, Jonah. I don’t want to. I swear, I want to be with you.” You’ve been less careful since Sharon and Elise broke up. You just wanted her to be happy, and you fucked up.

He’s pacing and running his hands through his hair. He knows you see her. He doesn’t know all the details, and you don’t talk about it. You and Jonah don’t talk about other people. It’s just understood.

You’ve just gotten back from the bar, and he knows you fucked her in that bathroom. You were gone entirely too long, and you reeked of sex when you came back. You broke the rules. You made it too obvious. You cut into his time.

You walk over and run your hands along his back. His shirt is flannel, and it’s the green one you like because it brings out his eyes. He lets you soothe him, because he’s in love with you. He carries you to bed, and tries to wipe her out of you. You let him try.

//

“Let me feel them at least.”

“No. Nat, stop it.” She slaps your hand away from hem of her shirt and looks around nervously.

“C'mon, no one is paying any attention to us. No one will see anything.” Your eyes are droopy, and you have an easy smile stretched across your face.

You got her high right before this, and now you’re regretting it, because she’s so paranoid. You think maybe she lied to you about being an occasional smoker, because she didn’t know how to use your pipe. You had to hold it for her and light it, and her lips trembled against the glass as she inhaled.

You’re at an outdoor art installation. You’d signed your names up a month ago for this James Turrell exhibit your coworkers wouldn’t shut up about. It was another silent apology for your fight over Sharon - that you wrote her name down instead of his, and you’re glad you’d made up in time to take her to this. You’re on your backs in a stone construction in the middle of a green field. You’re suppose to be staring up through the opening at the sky and admiring the way the artist manipulates light. Neither one of you are paying any attention to that. There are other people with their backs on the ground surrounding you and even more sitting or standing against the walls. They’re all looking up and oohing and aahing occasionally. The lights make the whole room change color and you watch as her skin turns orange and then blue and then purple. It’s strange and beautiful.

She’s looking at you, her round eyes self-conscious, and you can tell that she’ll eventually give in. She’d touch her fucking toes for you if you told her to. The thought makes you shiver. Being stoned makes you very, very horny.

You scoot closer to her, leaning up on your side now, and gently brush away the hair that’s fallen into her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes close, and she says it feels nice when you touch her like that. She’s distracted by the soft patterns you’re drawing against her skin, and so you slip your hand under her shirt again. She tries to pull it away, but you grab her hand and squeeze it roughly.

“I’m not asking.”

She swallows hard and her body goes slack. Her hips fidget against her will, and you know she’s probably as wet as you are. Her surrender is almost as good as what comes next. You feel up her soft, warm belly. Every sensation is heightened to you. The foggy high clears as you focus on her under your hand. You can feel her goosebumps rising in response to your fingertips, you can hear her soft puffs of air, you can see how her chest rises and falls in a jerky rhythm when you touch a sensitive spot. She’s full of them, sensitive spots, and you think her life must feel very good. Right now it does because of you, and that thought makes you feel something. She’s burying her face in your neck now, and when you make it to her thin cotton bra you can feel her stiff nipples against your palm.

“Please, I can’t handle it.” She whispers against your skin. Her hot breath sends electricity all the way to your fingertips.

“Shh, just relax, babe.” And you push her arching chest back down with a flattened hand.

“I want you.” She says it like she’s in pain, and you wonder how much it’d disturb the people around you if you stood up and threaded between them to leave. You briefly consider taking her right here, but you know that’s not possible. Your eyes search around, and you notice a few people turning their heads away quickly. You might be drawing more attention than you thought. You pull your hand out from under her shirt, and tell her to be patient as you lay back against the ground. The stone is cold against your burning skin.

You’re looking straight up now, and you lose your breath at the sight before you. The edges of the opening above you cut into the sky, the sunset is bleeding in, and maybe you’re just really high, but you don’t know where the art ends and the real sky begins anymore. You sense her looking at you from your periphery.

“Elise, look up. It’s beautiful.”

“I see it,” you hear her say. She doesn’t look up.

//

 You’re in the white light of her bedroom one morning when she tells you she loves you. Your mouth is still wet from her, and you wipe it against her thigh before pulling yourself up to meet her eyes. Your heart is flying against your ribcage. You think it’s an accident. She’s just confused, because you fuck all the time. It can’t be the truth.

You give her a way out, and she doesn’t take it.

It’s ruined now, you think. You’ve ruined her now. You know you should end it, but you don’t have the heart. You know you’ll never let her go for as long as you want her. And you do want her.

//

“Do it again.”

You’re taking her from behind, and you’d purposely dragged a finger along it as you made your way to her wetness. You wanted it.

“Do what again?” You know, but you want her to say it.

“You know.”

“I really don’t.” You’re smiling, and biting your lip, and watching her squirm.

“What you did at the bar that one time. You know. To me _there_.”

“Where?”

She flips around so she’s on her back and drapes her arms around your neck. You’re hovering over her. She’s squirming and her knee hits you just right, and you have to bite your lip harder so you don’t moan.

“If you make me say it, I’ll die, and you’ll miss me.”

“Tell me what I’ll miss.”

“Fucking me.” She giggles.

“What else?” You keep a serious face.

“My ass.” She’s blushing, but her eyes are brave.

“What about your ass?”

“You’ll miss what it feels like when you’re fucking it.”

“ _Fuck,_ Elise.”

You feel like a wild animal. You put her legs on your shoulders, and a finger in her mouth. You make her suck on it before you slide it in. You move slowly at first, until you feel her dripping on your hand. You push your finger deeper into her using your hips, and it’s so tight and different than what you’re used to. You think you might come from watching how much she likes it. You pick up speed until her moans fill your room.

“Don’t stop, Nat. Fuck me. Fuck me. Oh F-fuck.” She comes in under five minutes. It happens instantly the moment she rubs her clit with her fingers.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t touch yourself.” You grab her wrists hard and pin them at her sides. You’re talking while she’s still coming down. “Did I say you could do that?”

She shakes her head, and you bite her pouting bottom lip and pull it. She whimpers a little bit, and you let it go.

“I fuck you in all the filthy ways you want, and this is how you pay me back?” Your nails are digging into her wrists, and you watch the fear flicker in her eyes. “You’re lucky I liked it.” Your face cracks into a smile. 

She lets out the breath she was holding, and you look at her flushed face deciding what you want next. “Put the strap-on on. I want you to fuck me.”

“Really?” Her eyes are bright, and she’s smiling suddenly. You chuckle because it’s the exact same face she made when you bought her that stupid record player. She thinks this is a gift.

“Yeah, hurry up.” You watch her practically skip to your closet and pull it out of the shoe box.

You go wash your hands, and when you come back she tells you to close your eyes.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t want you to see me putting it on.”

“Are you serious?”

“Close them. Please. I’m almost done.” She pouts her lip, and you play along.

“Fine.” You drop to your bed and cover your eyes. She’s lucky she’s so fucking cute.

A few moments later you feel her weight on the bed, and your eyes open. You want it so bad. You want her inside of you right now.

“Can I ask you something?”

You groan internally. Of course she wants to talk right now. At this exact moment.

“Yes, princess, what is it?”

“How do you and Jonah do it?” Your heart speeds up in your chest. You were not expecting that.

You try to make light of it, “Well, when a boy and a girl love each other-”

She swats at you, rolling her eyes, and you grab both of her hands with yours midair and thread your fingers through them. You can’t make out the look on her face.

“C'mon, Natasha. Seriously.”

“How come you’re asking me this? You’ve seen us together before.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t see all of it. Is it better than us?”

“No. It’s just…different.” You’re trying to be very careful. This could go very badly, very quickly.

“Tell me what he does to you.”

Suddenly it clicks, and you think you understand where she’s coming from. “I didn’t ask you to use the strap-on because I prefer sex with Jonah. I just think you’re so fucking sexy, and I’ve been wanting you to use it on me.”

“You’ve been thinking about me fucking you with the strap-on?”

“Of course,” you say. Your mouth is half open, and your eyes are dark, and you think you’re not going to be able to control yourself for much longer when you look down and see it on her.

“I want you to pretend I’m Jonah.” She whispers it like a secret.

“What?” Your mouth drops open, and you shake your head. This feels like a test. “Are you testing me right now?” Your tone is defensive, and she puts her hands around your face to reassure you.

“No. Not at all. I just don’t know anything about that part of you, and I want to know what it’s like.”

“It just doesn’t seem like a good idea.” You’re pinching the bridge of your nose. You feel an odd mixture of exasperation and arousal, and it makes you very impatient.

“So we do literally anything and everything you want to do, but this, _this_ , is off limits?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She looks upset, and she gets up and puts her hands on her hips. She’s talking and talking, and most of it seems like gibberish, and honestly,

“I’m sorry, babe. I can’t take you seriously with that thing on.”

She blushes and looks down. She must have forgotten about it.

She’s pulling on it, frustrated, and trying to take it off. You get off the bed and walk over to her and put your hands over hers to still them.

“Don’t take it off. Just fuck me.”

You push her to the day bed until she’s sitting with her back against your window. You straddle her, your knees on either side of her. You grab the dildo in your hands, and she watches as you slowly slide it inside of yourself. You start to ride her slow. Up and down. You can hear your own wetness as you move on it. She watches you with an open mouth.

“You like this?” You ask her.

She can only manage to nod her head.

“Are you going to fuck me right? Or do I have to fuck myself?”

“I-I’ll do it.”

“Good.”

She guides you to your back, a hand under your head.  Your legs are open and bent at the knees as she pushes into you. It’s clumsy at first, because she can’t feel it in you, and it keeps popping out, but then she gets it.

And, _fuck_ , is she a quick learner.

“Faster,” you pant, and she rolls her little hips into you faster than you thought she could, her nipples rubbing against yours, and she reaches down to rub your clit. She leans down to your ear, and you think you’re so close to coming when she says, “Call me Jonah, or I’ll stop.” She’s slowing down and pulling her hand away.

“No, don’t stop. Just keep - keep going.”

“Not until you say it.”

You were literally seconds away from coming, and all you want to do is finish. It’s against your judgment, but it _is_ kinda hot that she wants to fuck you like Jonah, so,

“Okay…. _Jonah_. Fuck me.”

“Tell me how hard I am.”

“Your dick is so fucking hard.” She puts her fingers back on your clit, and she’s circling, and you feel so fucking full. You never get this feeling with her. It feels so _fucking_ good. You close your eyes remembering what she wants.

“Fuck, Jonah. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” Your eyes are squeezed shut tight, her fingers are persistent, and you imagine him and come hard. It’s a strange experience, mixing the two, and you’re not sure if you liked it. 

She pulls out of you slowly while your body is still jerking, and she’s looking at you with a strange expression as she takes the strap-on off.

She sets it on your nightstand before she asks, “What happened when you closed your eyes?”

“What?” You’re barely out of the haze of your orgasm, and you think you should teach her some etiquette about properly easing someone back into reality.

“Just now. When you closed your eyes and came? What were you thinking about?”

_Shit._ You knew this was some kind of trap.

“Well. You were suppose to be Jonah, right?”

“So you were thinking of him?”

You bite your lip. She’s been more emotional since she told you she loved you. You’ve been treading lightly lately, and you knew you shouldn’t have played this game with her. You knew it went too far.

“Yes, but-”

“Fuck you, Natasha. Fuck you.”

You scoff, ready to defend yourself, but she keeps going.

“You were suppose to think of _me_ as Jonah. Not just think of Jonah.”

“Is there even a difference?” You’re irritated now. You feel like she just put you in a fucked up position.

“Yeah, obviously, there is a difference.”

“You’re acting crazy. I told you we shouldn’t have done this. This is exactly why I said no.”

“You came harder than you ever do for me.” Her voice is thick with tears, and her mouth is bunching up, and her face is contorting, and no - damn it, she’s crying.

“No. No. I was literally with you right now. I just came for you.”

“You were thinking of him though. You were thinking about him.” Huge sobs are coming out of her chest, and all you want to do is go hold her, but every time you take a step in her direction she holds out her hands and flinches. She keeps going, and it’s hard to understand her through the crying, but all of your senses are tuned to her now.

“You never let me touch you. You barely ever come. I don’t even know what you get out of this.” The words come together in your brain, and your heart sinks. You feel soft for her everywhere.

She’s picking her things up and stomping around. She’s faced away from you, and you grab her from behind, pulling her until her back is pressed against your chest, your arms wrapped completely around her stomach. You press your mouth to her ear. “Hey. That’s not fair. You’re not being fair.” Your voice is soft and gentle, and you feel the tension in her body melting away. “I come all of the time. You don’t even have to touch me and I come. That’s how much I like it with you.”

“Really?” She turns around in your arms and looks up at you through wet lashes. “Go on.”

You laugh a little with a closed mouth, because she’s ridiculous. “Yeah. Really. I have to have you all the time. I can’t keep my hands off of you. You know that. It has nothing to do with anything other than the fact that I love touching _you_ and making _you_ come, and I can’t do that if you’re fucking me.”

She wraps her arms around you and says she’s sorry. She doesn’t know what came over her, and please don’t be mad at her, please.

She keeps crying, and you tell her it’s okay. It’s okay. You kiss her better and let her stay the night.

In the morning she makes you pancakes, and you lay in the hammock together. Her hair is wet from the shower, and she’s wearing all your clothes, even your socks.

She tells you she loves you. You like it more than you should.

//

She’s sleeping on top of you. Her head on your shoulder, her forehead against your cheek, a leg and an arm slung over your body. You used to make a point of not falling asleep together, but lately you almost always do. You indulge yourself sometimes like tonight, when you can’t bear to let her leave, and then spend days berating yourself for it. You feel guilty all the time.

She’s wearing one of your oversized t-shirts. You’d pushed it over her complaining head. She likes to sleep naked, but she also likes to get up in the middle of the night and go to the fridge or the bathroom, and your roommates are incorrigible. The night you found Matt gawking at her, bent over and naked, reaching into the fridge, was the night she could no longer sleep naked at your house.

“Oh, let him look.” She’d told you after you’d told him off, and then she batted her eyelashes at you. You’d yanked her and dragged her back to your room. You told her with your hands between her legs that she’s a fucking slut for letting someone else see her. You accused her of liking it, and she promised that she didn’t as you spanked her, her ass pressing up into your hand, even as she was begging you to stop. It was sexy, but there was an undercurrent of real anger that worried you. You think it might have worried her too, because when you finished, you were quiet, and she grabbed your face with both hands and said she didn’t want anyone else.

“Really. You know that. You know that, right?” Her eyes were so earnest, and you wanted to cry. You didn’t believe her. You know she sleeps with other people. You felt the familiar panic rising, and you were desperate to push it away again. You took her hand and rubbed it against you until you came, telling her not to say a fucking word. You didn’t let her come until that morning, holding her hands all night so she wouldn’t touch herself. When the white light poured in through the window, you softened and woke her up with your mouth between her legs. She was halfway there by the time she gained consciousness, and when her hands tangled in your hair, and her body tensed, you knew it would only be a moment until she was jerking against your tongue, releasing herself all over your mouth. You’ve never been with a girl who tastes as good as she does. You think idly that if you were dying, you would choose this as your last meal on Earth.

 

You look down at her now, and you can see the bruises on her hip in the shape of your fingertips where your t-shirt has crumpled up. She’s not wearing panties or a bra, and you feel it stirring in you again - the uncontrollable desire to have her. You think you should be more gentle with her as you examine her petite frame swallowed by your shirt. You don’t know how she takes everything you give her and still makes you pancakes with blueberry smiles afterwards like you’re not a monster.

 She looks so innocent and fragile like this, and you’re afraid the world is going to chew her up and spit her out. You wonder if that’s what you’re doing to her right now. You think for the hundredth time that she deserves someone better than you. Someone who isn’t in a relationship. Someone who knows how to love her, because you’ll never be any good at that. But not yet. You’ll let yourself have her for just a little longer.

She tightens her grip around you in her sleep, and you can feel her wetness against your thigh. You wonder if she’s always ready to fuck, or if it’s you that makes her like this. She’s told you before that it’s just you, but she lies, and you don’t know what to believe. You don’t know if she loves you because you’re all she has, or if she’s just waiting for something better. Your hands wander to her breasts like a bad habit, and her nipples harden even in her sleep. You love the way they feel through the fabric. She wakes up eventually and rocks into your thigh. You press it up against her, and she’s moving faster and rubbing harder against you. Her moans are soft and quiet and rhythmic. You tell her to come, and she does on command, and you do too without even being touched.

//

You can’t believe how long it’s been when she kisses your cheek and tells you at midnight that it’s your year anniversary. You tell her that you’ve never had a “year of fucking” anniversary before, and she tells you not to put it like that. She doesn’t like it. You kiss her pouting mouth, and she smiles and squeals when you tell her, yes, yes you’ll go to Montreal with her. You leave that morning, and you tell Jonah it’s for an audition. It’s not exactly a lie, because you are going to an audition with her. You meant to show her the city, because she hasn’t been in years, but you end up spending the whole weekend in the little apartment you rented. On the last day you make a desperate attempt to see the city, and you’re glad you do, because she looks beautiful against the buildings. She cries while looking at a painting in the Musée des Beaux-Arts. You tease her, but secretly you admire how free she is. You can’t imagine how someone so soft could love someone so hard. Not without bruising.

You’d thought for sure some girl who’s whole, and good, and available would have taken her from you by now. The thought stirs something rabid in you. Your jaw clenches.

She looks over at you and covers her face and tells you not to look at her.

You tell her it’s too late. You tell her you’ll never let her live it down. Never.

She giggles, and you pull her hips into yours and kiss her surrounded by art.

//

 You try to text her as much as you can without being rude to Jonah, but you don’t get reception at this music festival, so you give up eventually. You think about her big eyes with tears in them and guilt gnaws you. You’ve been heavy with the weight of it for months now. Since she told you she loves you. Since you didn’t say it back. You hate it when she cries, and she has been doing a lot of that lately. You think about the past weekend in Montreal. It was just the two of you. She was happy then. At least for a little while.

You can’t find her by the time you guys are ready to leave, and you’re worried, but Jonah tells you she’s a big girl and can take care of herself. You guess he’s right, and you don’t want to push it, because you can tell he’s been on edge all day. It was a stupid idea to all go together, because your group inevitably fractured off, going to different stages and meeting up with other friends, and for an entire show it was just the three of you. You could tell she was really drunk and teetering on the edge of making a scene because you weren’t paying enough attention to her. You were grateful when a handful of Jonah’s friends appeared and wanted you guys to come with them to another stage. You’d never seen her like _that_ in public, in front of so many people, in front of Jonah. She’s drunk and begging you to stay, and you’re trying to tell her with your eyes to chill out, but she doesn’t care. She’s been losing her patience with you so easily lately, and you can sense something coming.

“How come I’m not enough for you?” She’s bawling. She’s spilling like water all over your hands and on your clothes, and you can’t clean it up. Everyone knows. Everyone fucking knows, and Jonah’s going to leave you if you don’t get this under control. You decide the only thing you can do is walk away. He tugs on your hand, and you take the way out he gives you.

The same night your phone vibrates by your head. You look over at Jonah. His arm is draped over your waist, and his face is buried into your back. You lay your head back down, but your phone vibrates again, and so you look at it thinking maybe Elise needs a ride from somewhere, because you still haven’t heard from her. Your heart speeds up in your chest when you see her name glowing in the dark. Relief. She’s alive at least.

  _Elise: Come outside._

You bite your lip and look at Jonah again. She knows your with him right now, so you don’t know what she’s playing at. At least she’s safe and near her place. You put your phone back on the charger and lay your head back down. It vibrates again, and now you’re getting upset. You pick it up again very slowly and type out:

  _Natasha:_ _We’re sleeping._

You’re worried she might be really fucked up from drinking or drugs, and so you want to remind her that Jonah’s with you.

_Elise: Come outside or I’ll come in._

Shit. This is not good. You ease out of bed as slowly as possible hoping not to wake Jonah. When you’re standing on the cold hardwood, you look back at him over your shoulder. He’s slumped over into your spot, but sleeping still. You make it through the door and down the hallway to the stairs. You’re halfway down them when you see her through the window, leaning against the oak tree. She’s barefoot and wearing tiny shorts, and it makes you smile. What a mess.

“Elise you know I can’t. You know Jonah’s right inside. I can’t.”

“Just do it, and you’ll never have to touch me again.”

“Why would you say that? I want to touch you again.”

Her hands are clutching at your back, and her face is in your neck, and it feels wet, and you know she’s crying again. You don’t know what’s going on with her, but you want to make her feel better, so you do it.

“ _Fuck,”_ you breath out as your fingers touch her. So wet and warm. You put your fingers right on her clit and start rubbing circles. You need her to finish fast.

She sighs as you push her back against the tree. Her hand is gripping the arm that you have tucked in her shorts, and her other arm is draped around the small of your back. She’s making these little sounds, and then she’s saying I love you.

“I love this. I love you- I love you - I fucking love you so much.” You can tell she’s nowhere near coming, and you remind her that Jonah’s sleeping inside, and she has to be quick. 

“Don’t say his fucking name to me.”

You feel her freeze. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

You think you’re going to have to talk to her about things soon. These fits she’s throwing are not blowing over. They’re only getting worse. She keeps demanding more and more from you, but you don’t have anything to give her. You feel stretched thin and tired.

“Please, please just come for me, babe.” You’re panting in her ear, and your arm is tired.

She jerks your hand away from her.

“You don’t want me. You want to go back inside and be with him. I can tell. I can feel it. Did he fuck you tonight? Did you come?”

Her voice is raising, and you’re panicking and looking around. You wrap your arms around her, and her face is buried in your shoulder, and you say, “No, no. I want you. I always want you.”

“You want him more.”

“Elise, stop this. What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. You’re _nothing_ to me.” She spits it out, and she’s crying again, and she turns to leave, and you grab her arm. You yank her back to you.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that.” Your voice is trembling. She’s never talked to you this way before. “I want to fuck you, so put your back against the fucking tree, or I’ll make you.” Your voice is getting louder. Your emotions are all mixed up inside of you.

“Make me then.”

You grab her waist and force her against the tree. “Don’t make a fucking sound.”

Her eyes are red and wet but full of want. Just the way you like them, and you think you’re sick. You’re sick for wanting her like this when she’s hurting. You put her hand down your pants, and you come with a gasp when she does. Then you walk her back to her apartment and fuck her one more time against her door. She tells you not to go, but you can tell her heart isn’t in it. She’s not going to fight you anymore. When you leave, she holds on to your hand until you’re too far away, and then she lets it go.

//

A week later you see her friends packing up a truck with all her shit. You see one of them squirting her with a water gun. She’s shrieking and running with her hands up.

“I give up. I give up.” You see her mouthing.

You’re confused and feel something panicky in your chest. She hasn’t talked to you since the night of the music festival, but you figured she just needed some space.

They leave and come back for another load about an hour later, and now you’re really fucking confused. You text her and ask her if she’s moving. She doesn’t respond. You’re pissed because you have to go to work, and you don’t have time to deal with this right now.

A coworker is driving you home, and you see her beat up little car just down the street.

“Hey, follow that car.”

“Who is it?”

“Elise.”

“Why are we following Elise?”

“We’re, uh, we’re not talking right now, and I just want to see where she’s going.”

“That’s weird.”

“I know.”

“You know, Natasha, you can always talk to me if-”

“Shut up and drive.” You turn the music up. You’re not talking to a forty year old chef with three ex-wives and a crush on you about your crazy, complicated love affair with everyone’s favorite waitress.

“Okay, baby. Mission accomplished. Here we are. What next?” He’s so annoying sometimes, but he’s a good guy.

You watch her walk up to an apartment that already has its door open. You see her friend Kaitlyn outside of it talking on the phone and drinking something. You see her hang a little decoration on the door. It’s the same one outside of her apartment door. Her old apartment door now, you think to yourself. She fucking moved. She didn’t even tell you.

//

You wouldn’t let yourself think of her for weeks. All the things she texted you - you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t be that for her. You couldn’t leave Jonah. You loved him, and you knew she would never accept it.

You always thought in the back of your mind that she would show up again. That she would take off all her clothes and climb in your bed, and it would all go back to the way it was.

She didn’t, and it never did.

Three months ago you’d driven to her apartment with a speech you had memorized about how you should at least be friends, because it’s not all or nothing. It’s never been all or nothing. You can work through her feelings together and figure it all out. When you see her with another girl, dragging her into her apartment, you want to rip the skin off your bones. You _knew_ she fucked other people. You want to claw at her and scream at her. You want to make her feel exactly how you feel. It scares you.

 You take a few deep breaths and grip the steering wheel. You sit still until the wild feelings leave your body. When you’re calm again something tells you that she knows how you feel. She already knows, and that’s why you’re sitting in this car staring at her, and someone else is getting her out of her dress. So, you leave and stop texting her. You have Jonah, and you love him, and you’re not even sure why you keep coming back to her anyway. You don’t want her to live a life in second place. You don’t want her to be sad anymore. You think that you can’t be so selfish to want her and keep Jonah too. But you are, and you fucking hate yourself for it. You go back in forth in your mind, and you think you’re doing the right thing. 

Your resolve to leave her alone doesn’t last long, and you show up one night after six months of not seeing her. It was because of something so small, and so stupid. You’d been good before this. She was off limits. You wouldn’t even let yourself think of her when you touched yourself.

But then you had woken up in a panic one night because you couldn’t remember what her mouth felt like against yours. All you could feel were Jonah’s lips no matter how hard you imagined. You remembered what they looked like, how she smelled, what she tasted like, and what her little, naked body felt like squirming under your hands. But her lips. Her mouth. It left you. In just six months. You couldn’t handle not knowing. It broke you. You spent a week fucking yourself and thinking about her. Trying to remember. It was like a fever you couldn’t break. You wouldn’t even let Jonah touch you.

So, you’re in her living room to find out. You’re saying “Hey” as if you didn’t just go six months without talking to her. You’ve been angry with her for leaving and not telling you. You’ve been angry with her for dating, which is stupid, but you are. Your friends tell you they saw her out with so and so, or that person, or this person. At this bar, at that restaurant, at this audition. You have no idea why they keep reporting to you. They must think it matters to you. It does.

Her place is so _her._ It’s clean, and the decorations on the walls are hung so perfectly, and there’s bright colors everywhere. It smells like her, and the moment you step inside your whole body relaxes. You see the record player in the living room, and you smile for a moment despite yourself. It feels like something, but you don’t know what. 

She’s just told you she loves you again. You wonder when it’ll stop feeling like a knockout round every time she says it. Then she’s telling you she doesn’t want to see you anymore. You wonder if it’s possible for a heart to burst and keep beating. You don’t know it works. How she could love you, but not want to see you? It doesn’t feel right. It feels like another lie. You just don’t know what the lie is this time. She’s not looking at you, but you can’t take your eyes off of her. You never have been able to. She’s so fucking alive and right in front of you with her bleeding heart, and her sad eyes, and that body. She looks away from you so easily, and it makes you feel like an animal scratching desperately at the hard ground, your nails cracking and eyes bulging. _Look at me. Look at me._

You want to say so much.

_I’m a fucking monster._

_Stay away from me._

_Make me leave._

_You deserve to be happy._

_You shouldn’t love me._

_Don’t stop loving me._

But instead you decide to take her into your fucking mouth because that’s the only way you know how to confess.

You fight your way through her resistance and drop to your knees. You worship her. Doesn’t she know you fucking worship her? You thought you were strong, but you’re weak, weak, weak. When did this stupid, little girl become yours? She _is_ yours. She’s fucking yours. You’re going to remind her. You drag her to the bedroom now. Her mouth melts between your legs and she licks all your bitterness sweet until you come with her name on your lips.

You grip her hips hard and flip her over. You take her skin between your teeth and you bite it, because you couldn’t stand yourself without her. You can’t stand it. You want her to tell you to stop, that it’s too painful, that you don’t deserve her, but she just tells you she’s sorry like it’s all her fault. You don’t accept her apology.

 //

When your landlady dies, Jonah buys you the house you live in and moves in with you. You’re surprised that he would want this, because he’s never mentioned it before. He builds furniture in the backyard, and you wonder why he loves you as you watch him from the hammock, a book in your hand. Mostly you don’t question it. When his arms are around you life makes sense and breathing is easy. It’s everything else that’s hard. You smile when you think about how he told you.

He kisses the top of your head as you stand in the foyer.

“Here,” he hands you a key.

“What’s this for?”

“Your house.”

You laugh, “Jonah, I have a house key. I live here.”

“No, this is a key to _your_ house. _Our_ house. I bought it.” He smiles wide at your confusion.

He kisses your shocked face and tells you all the things he plans to do to make it a home. Starting with kicking Matt out the moment he finds a new place. He tells you he’s throwing a house warming party this weekend. Your heart picks up a little when he suggests you invite Elise and Annie. Elise met Annie through Jonah a few months ago. You didn’t like the idea of introducing them, but when he asked you why not, you couldn’t think of a good reason. Maybe because you want to be the only one fucking her. Although you doubt that’s ever been true.

They came over holding hands all over your backyard, and you want to rip the cup from Elise’s hand and pour it over her head when she asks you what you think of Annie.

“I think she’s a pretentious bitch.”

“Natasha.”

“What? She can’t hear me. She’s in the house.” Half of the party is now consumed with some karaoke game Jonah got.

Elise bats her eyelashes at you, and looks down at your chest, and you can’t help the grin on your face in response. 

“Want to fuck in the car real quick?” You ask.

“No!” Her eyes dart around as if someone gave a shit about what you guys were talking about.

“Why not?”

“Maybe because Jonah and Annie are literally right inside the house, and they’ll know if we’re missing.” Her voice is hushed.

“Since when do you care?” You’re annoyed now.

“Now. I care since now.”

“Why the fuck did you even come over then?”

“Are you kidding me? This is your _housewarming_ party. Because you and Jonah live together now. We were invited.”

“We? You and Annie are a ‘we’ now? And so what if Jonah and I live together. It doesn’t change anything.”

She looks at you strangely, and you’re not sure what she’s thinking. “Things have to change sometime.” She slips inside the house, the screen door slamming behind her.

You squint after her completely and thoroughly irritated at this new development named Annie.

//

You’ve got her pinned to the floor in her bedroom.

“I swear, Natasha. I swear to God I don’t love her.” So much time has passed, and you can’t let her be. And she’s still lying in your fucking face.

“Why aren’t we fucking right now, then?” Your hands are wrapped around her wrists, on either side of her head, and you’re wet and pressed against her stomach. It’s barely any relief. You’re completely naked except for a few pieces of jewelry.

It feels different. You’re desperate. You’re crazy, you think to yourself. You’ve gone completely insane at the thought of her disappearing on you again. If she loves someone else then she can’t love you. And if she doesn’t love you, then you’ll die.

Ever since Annie, you don’t see each other for months outside of your awkward double dates, and when you do, she tries to end things with you. She barely looks at you when the four of you are together. You’ve told her she needs to chill. That Jonah would never say anything, and that Annie won’t ever know. She doesn’t follow you to the bathroom anymore. She says it’s too confusing for her to keep sleeping with you, and she asks you how is she ever suppose to find someone if you don’t let her. She tells you that she’s only ever loved you, that she’s only ever wanted to be with you, all you have to do is say the words. But you won’t, and so now, please, won’t you let her try with Annie.

Annie. Annie. Annie. Fuck Annie.

“We haven’t in months.” You’re rocking into her slowly. “If you don’t love her then let me.”

There are tears streaming down her face, and she says, “Please, please. I just don’t want to. It has nothing to do with her.”

“You’re a liar.” You reach your hand between her legs and feel her. She gasps and tilts her hips up into your hand.

“I can feel how much you want me.” It’s a fucked up kind of relief that floods through you when you feel that she’s wet. But you also fucking hate yourself, because this perfectly good girl is a mess underneath you, and it’s all your fault. 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” She tries a softer approach and rolls her hips up into you. You think she’s giving in, and so you let her wrists go. She wraps her hands around your face and kisses you sweetly. You’re distracted by it, and you let her fill you up with light, until you realize that she’s slowly slipping out from under you, trying to escape. You let out a frustrated noise and grab her by the arms, dragging her up with you.

“You’re scaring me, _Natasha,_ please. I don’t love her. I’m not lying. I’d never lie to you.” She wiggles out of your grasp and slumps on her bed, her head in her hands. You’re blocking the door, and you see her eyes glancing at it every few seconds.

“Prove it then. Fuck me, and I want to see your eyes the whole time. If you close them I’ll know. I’ll _fucking_ know.”

She lifts her head up, and you watch as her eyes drop down to your body. You know she’s thinking about it. She loves it when you let her fuck you.

“Nat, you make this so impossible. C'mere already then.” You smile. It doesn’t come from a place of joy. It comes from that sick place where you like to break her. You hate yourself for it, and so when she tells you the same as you straddle her - it feels like the truth. Finally, the truth.

“ _I fucking hate_ you, you know that?” she says, and she’s inside of you with her little fingers, and she’s gotten better, so much better than that first time so long ago. Her nipples are rubbing against yours, and her tongue is in your mouth, and she feels so good inside of you. You wonder why you don’t let her fuck you more often, because _Jesus_ , she is doing it right.

“I swear to God I _fucking_ hate you, Natasha.” Your smile widens. She’s going faster now, harder, and you’re smiling because this pretty, little girl thinks she can hurt you with her hands. That’s not where her power is.

Her pink lips are in a line, and her hand curls around your neck, squeezing it. It wipes the smile off your face.

“ _Fuck_ _you_ ,” she says, and you moan as your open mouth grazes hers. She grabs your jaw roughly to keep your eyes on hers as her fingers move you move up and down in a jerky rhythm.

“Do you hate me?” she asks in a little voice. “You must hate me to make me do this.” Her eyes are closed, and her forehead’s against yours. You turned her into this. This is your fault. She doesn’t fuck like this. You do.

“Say it.” Her voice is stronger now, and she’s angry. When she curls her fingers inside you, the words bubble up from your gut and burn their way out of your throat, “Yes. Yes, you’re _a lying slut_ , and I _hate_ you for it. F-Fuck.”

“But you like that I’m a little slut, don’t you? It makes you fucking come just thinking about it, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Oh my God, _Yes._ ” You’re so wet, and she adds another finger, and now you’re completely full of her.

“I fucking knew you liked it,” she says, and she’s panting, and pushing you down on your back, and rocking her hips between your thighs. You feel her even deeper inside you.

“You’re a Selfish. Fucking. Asshole.” She thrusts up into you with every word.

You come, mouth open and silent, in a curtain of her hair, her tits against your face. None of it feels like a game.

You lie there feeling dead inside, and she’s saying she’s sorry now, and she loves you, she fucking loves you, and why don’t you love her? She’s crying. She keeps asking you why as you rub out orgasm after orgasm, sometimes for her and sometimes for yourself, until she falls asleep against her will - exhausted. She makes you promise not to go as her eyes close, and you tell her that you’re right here. You’re right here. You kiss her puffy red eyelids, and it’s gentle. The fight is gone from you. All you feel for her now is tenderness.

You let yourself look at her for an hour before you leave.

//

She comes into your coffee shop for the first time months later. You’re almost done remodeling. You haven’t seen her because she’s been in Italy for two weeks. You’d started a routine where you’d see each other once a week again, and you knew it wouldn’t last, but you took advantage of it while you could.

You breathe in sharply, your heart speeding up at the sound of the door chiming. You’re so stupid you think to yourself. You’re so stupid for missing her. She comes sweeping in, bringing the cold in with her, wearing a blinding smile, wriggling her left hand around. You made a little latte for her, a heart designed carefully in the foam, a cinnamon stick poking out. Just the way she likes it this time of year. You had long come to some kind of peace with her and her relationship with Annie, but your eyebrows still furrow in confusion as she approaches. You see _it_ on her hand. She’s holding it out to you like you’re just some friend. Like the sight of it doesn’t make your stomach turn. Like you’d be happy for her. There’s no air in the room, and you reach your hand out to the counter for support. You think you might be sick.

“She popped the question! Oh, it was beautiful, Nat. We were…” And she carries on, but you can only hear the sound of your own blood rushing in your ears. She swoops in to kiss your cheek. You take it stiffly.

“For me?” She says smiling, but she’s already picking the latte up and hopping on the nearest stool, chattering away. You haven’t found your voice yet, and you’re reeling, and you’d really like to sit down. It’s stupid. It’s so stupid because she’s not yours. She’s not. You let Annie have her.

She’s looking at you now, and she’s not talking anymore. You think back on the echoes in your mind. What was she saying? Ah. 

“Want to what?” You say. You feel like you’re underwater. Everything’s too silent, too heavy, too far away.

“Marry me or fuck me? Either one.”

You think you’re having a heart attack. You’re feeling sharp pains, and you wonder if it’s possible to die from something like this. You swallow the bile that rises to your mouth. You need her to leave before you do something stupid. Otherwise you might take her now right on the floor of your coffee shop, and then drive to the court house like an idiot. You imagine trying to explain that to Jonah.

 You grab her coffee from the counter and pour it into a paper cup.

“Hey, I’m still drink-” she’s saying, but you cut her off mumbling something about having an appointment, and you shove the cup into her hand.

You walk her to her car because she expects you to. Because you always walk her back to wherever she’s going. You can’t stand the thought of something happening to her even as you’re coming undone. You try to control your face as you hug her goodbye.

You’re grasping the small of her back, your hand splayed out against the curve of it. Your eyes focus on a small, yellow flower growing on a skinny, little weed. How fucking stupid. It’s growing right there in the dusty dirt and broken glass and scattered cigarette butts. It doesn’t belong there. When she’s gone you walk over to it, your foot hovering for a moment before you stomp it into the ground. 

It stains the dirt yellow and green, and you feel sorry now that you’ve done it.

 //

“Stop looking at me like that while I’m working,” you say as you breeze by her table with a food order. Her head is tilted down, and her eyes are looking up at you through her lashes, and her legs are crossed. You can see her thighs squeezing together and her hips rising, and you know she wants you. It’s subtle, but you’ve got her memorized like some people do music or lines in a movie.

She’s married now, but she still lets you fuck her. Some months more than others. Some not at all. You were afraid she would stop showing up. Stop letting you show up. You were afraid of breaking vows yourself at first. But nothing compares to the fear of never getting to touch her again. You’ll rot in hell for this. You’ll burn for her.

You bring her a blueberry muffin on your break.

“I have something to tell you.” You see fear in her eyes, and it worries you.

“What is it?” You’re tense.

“We’re having a baby.” She smiles at you, but it’s more like a grimace, as she braces herself for your response.

Your heart stops with a clunk in your chest. You reach your hand out to feel her stomach in disbelief.

She swats it away. “No, not me, silly. Annie’s pregnant. Three months.” And she’s laughing at you now.

You feel instant relief. You’re actually happy. When you’re done laughing at yourself you tell her, “You’ll make a great mom.” She stares at you with a knowing smile that makes you self-conscious. You can tell she likes the compliment. You wait a beat before you say, “I’ve always had a thing for milfs, you know.”

She chuckles, and you drop your eyes lower. It’s incredibly obvious what you’re looking at. Her shirt is cut so low that it’s almost inappropriate. You think about her nipples in your mouth. You want to suck on them until she comes from it. Instead, you sit across from her and listen to baby name ideas. You only have fifteen minutes right now anyway. You watch her animated face explain pregnancy and all the things she never knew about it. You make her stay for another hour until your lunch break, and then you drag her to the employee bathroom in the back.

“Can we be in here?” She breathes out.

“It’s my place. I can do what I want.”

“What if Jack or someone needs to pee?”

“He can pee in the customer bathroom.”

“But what if-”

“Elise, shut the fuck up.” You cover her mouth with yours to quiet her before you kiss down her neck. You’re bending at your knees to get to her collar bone, and you drag your hands up from her waist and wrap them around her ribcage. You squeeze her because her skin is too soft under your mouth, and it stirs something primal in you. Sometimes you want to feel her crack beneath your hands, and you don’t know why.

“I c-can’t breathe.”

You move your hands down, and pop open the button of her jeans.

“I just thought of something. Mom jeans.” You laugh, and she’s offended.

“I will never _ever_ wear mom jeans.” She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs.

Your smile drops. “You know, I like to wear the pants.”

“Yeah, I know you like to wear the pants.” She breathes it out, her voice low, her brown eyes black in the dim lighting.

“What I say goes.”

“Yes, I know.” She ruts into you impatiently.

“Daddy’s wear the pants don’t they?”

She swallows and doesn’t take her eyes off of yours as she nods.

“And good girls let their Daddy’s touch don’t they?”

Her mouth is hanging halfway open, and you can tell her brain is short-circuiting.

You slowly move your hand down until you feel her ruined panties underneath your fingertips. You make slow circles through the thin fabric.

“Do you like that?”

She’s nodding her head and pushing her hips down against your fingers.

You’re moving very slowly against her as you watch her chest heave.

“Does that turn you on?”

She nods her head again, her eyes looking at you round and soft, like if she does something wrong you’ll stop. You pull her pants down, and while you’re on your knees, you drag your tongue against the wet fabric.

You stand back up and take every piece of clothing off her body. You lift her onto the sink and push her legs apart

She’s completely naked as you drag your nails up the insides of her thighs. You’re teasing her now, but she’s being good.

“When you were listing off baby names all I could think about was your tits in my fucking mouth.”

“I know.”

“You wanted that didn’t you? It’s your fault I’m like this. It’s all your _fucking_ fault.” You squeeze her thighs hard now. You aren’t suppose to leave marks on her anymore, but you don’t care.

“I’m sorry.” She’s tense, you feel it, and you wonder when you started making her flinch. She doesn’t always know what’s pretend and what’s real with you anymore. You don’t either.

“You don’t seem very sorry. You wouldn’t look at me like that if you didn’t want me to fuck you. Is that how you look at everyone?”

“No,” she says. “Only you. _Please_.” You drag your fingers across her and she’s soaking wet.

“Please what?”

“Please, _fuck me_.”

And you do. You’re inside of her, and she tells you how hard you are, and that she’s sorry for wanting it, and that she’s a good girl, that normally she’s such a good girl.

“Fucking _say it_ , Elise.”

“ _Fuck, Daddy, fuck me. I want it. I want it,”_ and she comes, clenching around your fingers. She doesn’t settle down for awhile, and you think it’s the longest time you’ve seen her come for. You rub her clit and make her come again immediately, and then again. Her legs are trembling around your waist, and she’s begging you to stop now.

You’re still standing between her legs as she wraps her arms around your shoulders and buries her face into the crook of your neck. Your fingers are halfway down her back playing with the ends of her hair.

“How come we’ve never done that before?” She asks in a quiet voice. It echoes around the dark bathroom.

You look at her. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah.”

“I liked it too.”

 You put her clothes on for her, and it’s sweet and intimate, and you think you want to take her away somewhere for a weekend. Just you and her.

“I can’t right now, Natasha. You know that.”

Your heart drops in your chest, because she used to rearrange her whole life just to spend time with you, but now everything’s different.

“Yeah, okay. Soon then.”

//

“I love you.” She whispers it against your sticky chest as she licks the salt from your skin. You haven’t heard her say it in so long. You’re struggling like teenagers in the back seat of your car. You wanted to see her, but neither of you had a place to go. Annie was at their house and Jonah at yours. Rain beats down, and in your periphery lightening turns the night sky day again. You laugh when a particularly loud thunder clap startles her. Her body tenses on top of yours.

“Afraid?” You smile teasingly.

“No.” She looks down and then back up at you. “Do you think we’re safe in here though? I didn’t think to check the weather.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe, princess,” you say, as you pull her hips into yours. She’s rubbing little circles against you slowly with her hips, and you press up against her and move just right and,

“Ah- fuck. _Fuck_ right there. Does it feel good?”

“Y-Yeah.” She breathes out. “I’m just w-wondering. Ah-” You grind up into her. “How you could possibly-” she exhales sharply, your hips working into her, “protect me from a-a storm.”

You still your hips abruptly, your hands still gripping her waist. She’s flat against you, her face so close that you can feel her eyelashes when she blinks.

You widen your eyes in mock horror. “You’re right. We’ll probably die fucking each other.” She shoves your shoulder, and you continue, “I can’t think of a better way to go out.”

“ _Really_?” She thinks it’s sweet. You can tell by the tone of her voice. You can tell by the way her eyes are shining. Guilt rips through your body. She deserves more.

She’s rewarding you now. Her mouth closes over your right nipple while her hand massages the left. She’s always so soft. So soft with you. The wind is gusting outside. The air in the car is still, humid, and quiet. All you hear is your pounding heart. It doesn’t do that for Jonah anymore, you think.

Her phone is charging in the middle console. It lights up. Annie. She stops touching you to answer. Your skin goes cold from the loss of hers. Her eyes are apologetic, and she just says,

“I have to. She’s getting close now.”

The baby. It’s almost due.

You listen to their conversation quietly, and she’s lying to Annie about where she is. She tells her she’ll be home soon - that the weather’s not too bad where she is. That she doesn’t need to worry. It sounds so honest and natural. She glances quickly at you before you hear her say, “Me too.”

The sadness that follows takes your breath away, and you sit up, your back pressing against the cold leather. You wonder how many times she’s sweetly lied to you just like that.

“You’re very good at that.” You say dryly when she hangs up the phone.

“Don’t start, Natasha.”

You’re putting your bra back on, and you grab your shirt.

“Hey, what’re you doing?”

“You just said you were going to be home soon.”

“But I didn’t even come yet. We have a little more time.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“What?” She stares at you suspiciously. “You’re always in the mood.”

“Well, not right now.”

“C'mon.” She’s pulling on your arm, and you snatch it away.

“I said _no_!” It’s harsh, and you wince, turning your head away slightly, because even you didn’t expect it.

She’s staring at you in shock. This isn’t how it usually goes. Usually you want sex, and you take it from her, and you don’t apologize. This feels like something new to both of you.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Her voice is softer now, concerned, and she’s pushing your bangs to the side, but you jerk away from her touch.

Her face is hurt. It’s so hurt, and you can barely look at it.

“I never wanted this for you. Any of this.” You say it quietly, and it feels like you’re watching yourself talk. You don’t know where this is coming from, but you know it’s been there. It’s been there all along.

“I want this. I want all of this and more.” She says, and it sounds honest. It sounds so fucking honest, but you can’t trust it. Annie is good for her. All you do is fuck her up.

“Are you listening to me? I’d be with you right now still. Don’t you know that? Let’s just be together. No Annie. No Jonah. Just me and you the way it’s suppose to be.”

Your heart aches because you can see it, you can see it happening, and you’re shaking your head no, because there’s no way you would ruin her life like that. You can’t stand the thought of it. You can’t even fuck her because of it.

Then she’s pushing you. She’s just losing it on you, and the rain is splattering against the glass, and you watch the fast patterns and think it would be nice if she ended this all for you. If it all went black. You deserve it. She’s scratching at you, and you put your arm up to block your face out of instinct more than anything. She’s screaming at you as you sit limply and let her work her anger out. You don’t catch everything she says, but what you do hear is true. You’re a fucking coward, and you’ve ruined a whole person’s life. She’s better off without you.

 She calms down after throwing her phone against the window shield. You can tell she regrets it when you look at her in the ringing silence. She looks exhausted. The bone deep kind. Her eyes are raw and red. Her voice is cracking and hoarse. “Why don’t you love me, Natasha? You just keep letting me go. I feel so _fucking_ much for you, and you just sit there. It’s devastating.”

 She’s crying now, and her nose is dripping, and her eyes are red, and her sleeves are too long for her. You think that, after all this time, if you are ever going to do the right thing, you should do it now.

“I love Jonah.” You feel like you’re telling a lie, but the words are true. You can’t be with her the way she wants. Nothing has changed just because you can see it better now. She flinches as if you slapped her. Your skin is still sore from her tantrum, and the way it burns is the only thing that feels right about this moment.

You take her to her car in silence. You have her keys, and you open the door for her and then hold them out to her. She wraps her whole hand around them, holding yours for a moment. The rain is soaking you completely through, but the storm has quieted down. Her shirt is white and thin, and you look at the way it clings to her. You want her still. Even now. You think she’s going to slip into the driver seat, but instead she stops right in front of you.

“I can’t keep doing this. If you walk away this time - it’s over. I swear to god you’ll never touch me again.”

 You’ve been patient, but she’s fucking threatening you now, threatening to take it all away, and you lose your temper.

“What do you think this is Elise? You think we’re going to run away into the fucking sunset? You’re married and about to have a kid. I’m with Jonah. I love being with Jonah.” You look at her helplessly before dropping your gaze to the ground. You feel like you’re reading a script. The words are so hollow.

She pushes against your shoulders, and you grab both of her wrists and yank her into you, immobilizing her.

“You’re a fucking monster, you know that.” She spits it out at you. Her eyes are flashing, and you see hate in them.

The truth. It’s so rare coming from her mouth that it makes you want to kiss her.

Instead you just say, “Yeah, I know.”

Her eyes water, but they don’t spill over, and her mouth bunches up but then relaxes again. You watch her breathe in through her nose, calming herself, before she finally says, “Are you even going to miss me?”

It’s heartbreaking. “You don’t have to do this. It can stay like this.”

“Have you even listened to word I’ve said? Do you even fucking listen to me, or do you just wait for the sounds to stop so you can fuck me?" 

"I listen to everything you say, you know that. You’re my friend. I-I care about you.” You finish weakly. It sounds artificial even to you.

“Fuck you, Natasha. I’m not your friend. I’ve never been your friend.” And then she’s in her car, and she’s driving away.

When you pull up to your house, you can see the lights glowing from the windows. You wait until your breathing evens out before you walk inside. You find Jonah in front of the fireplace and wrap him around you like a blanket. He doesn’t question why your clothes are soaking wet or why there are tears streaming down your face. He holds you for awhile before he asks,

“Do you love her?”

“I love you.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You wrap your arms around him even tighter, your face pressed against his warm chest. You feel him sigh. It’s big and final.

“How much longer do we have?”

“I don’t know.”

//

You start to really worry about six months after the baby is born, and you haven’t seen her at all. You know you fought last time, and it was bad. She didn’t give you a chance to make it right. When you drove to her house the next day Annie’s car was there. You could see the TV on, and you lost your nerve.

She texts you pictures of the baby, and you and Jonah stop by the hospital to look at her. She looks like Annie. You mostly look at Elise while she avoids your eyes. After that, you don’t hear from her at all.

Jonah’s worried about your weight, and he pleads with you to eat more. He brings you breakfast in bed. He brings take out home from your favorite restaurants. He watches you closely when he thinks you aren’t paying attention. When he chops vegetables in the kitchen, you clench your jaw. You don’t understand why he has to be so loud - why he has to cook every meal, every day. All the ways he cares for you, all the things you thought you couldn’t live without - lately it just suffocates you. You stop sleeping with him in the middle of summer, and at night he just holds you tighter. He asks you one day if you’ve heard from Elise. It’s out of nowhere, you think, and it stirs you from your daze. You shake your head. Your hand is wrapped around a mug of hot coffee. You wish he’d go away. You wish he’d leave you. You’re looking out at the street where you always used to see her. She’d just be there sometimes. You remember how the excitement felt as it rippled through you when she was, you remember her huge smile, you remember staring at her thinking all you wanted was her body between your teeth. You remember being afraid that you’d devour her whole. You know better now. She consumes you.

You start casually dropping her name into conversations with mutual friends, and their responses are always baby, baby, baby. You knew things were going to change when she became a mother, but you can’t think of the last time you went so long without at least talking to each other. You call and leave her voicemails after a few more months. You never used to leave voicemails.

You won’t even touch her, you say.

You just want to say hi, you say.

Just swing by the coffee shop, you say.

You text her drunk.

You text her in the morning.

You text her in the middle of the night.

You send her naked photos,

and then you apologize for sending her naked photos.

You beg her to just pick up the phone.

You tell her you’re going to come over.

You tell her you’re not kidding you’re really going to come over.

You tell her you never want to see her again, and that she’s so selfish.

You tell her you’re sorry just please call you.

It doesn’t matter what you say. She doesn’t say anything back anyway.

//

You’re in a sweater that used to fit, and it’s swallowing you, and you think Jonah’s right. You probably should eat a good meal. You’re turning away from the mirror when your phone rings. It’s Annie. You hear ringing in your ears. Something must have happened to her. She must be dead, or raped, or in a coma, and the last time you saw her she wouldn’t even look at you. Your mind runs wild until you realize you need to pick up or it will go to voicemail.

“Hello?” Your voice is impressively steady.

“Natasha? How are you? It’s Annie.”

“Annie, hi. Is everything okay?”

She laughs a little. It’s awkward. “Everything’s fine. We were just calling to see if you wanted to see the baby? Maybe Jonah could barbecue, and we could all catch up?”

We. You hated the way she referred to her and Elise as _we._ Elise isn’t even on the phone. She called. Just Annie.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Is Elise around?” You try to sound casual.

“Ah, no. She’s running errands. She sends her love though, and she can’t wait to see you.” You hear the baby crying in the background. You hear Elise’s voice comforting her. Your chest is aching because you know she’s so close. She’s just right there.

“Look, Natasha, I have to cut it short, but we can’t wait to see you. Our schedule is wide open, just give us a weekend this month, and we’ll be there.”

Our. We. You want to put the phone in your mouth and swallow it.

“Absolutely.” There’s a fake smile on your face until you hang up, but now that you’re alone with your thoughts, it’s wide and genuine. Your stomach is twisting and squeezing. Your heart is expanding. You’ll fix everything. You’ll make it right.

You tell Jonah. You ask him if it can be this weekend. He says yes, because he’d say yes to anything right now. Anything that would make you happy. You’ve been a ghost. You tell him you’ll go get groceries and drinks. You’ll clean up the yard. You’re smiling, and he says he hasn’t seen you smile like this in months. He tells you that you’re beautiful. He kisses you on your way out of the house, but his whiskers are harsh against your face, and you don’t open your mouth.

You think only of her. Her hair in the sunshine, her purple skin in Turrell’s light, her eyes, her smell, her soft kisses, her sweet little body in your big t-shirts, her tears, her bruises, her twitching hips, her sounds as she’s coming, her devotion, her love.

Your love.

 //

When she walks in the door your heart is beating fast. You actually look down to make sure it’s not visible. Of course it’s not. Stupid. She hugs you lightly, but then she’s sweeping past you, making only brief eye contact. Jonah wraps her in a bear hug, lifting her feet off the ground. Annie wraps one arm around you, the baby in her other. You smile down at her when she grabs your hair between her chubby fingers as you pull out of the hug. You kiss her forehead after you gently pull your hair away. “Beautiful,” you tell Annie. “She’s beautiful.”

You already feel like shit, and you haven’t even tried to ruin them yet.

You watch Elise from the corners of your eyes. You know she’s staring at you. Two drinks in, and she already wants you. You have no idea how you’re going to get her alone to talk to her until she does it for you. Your head turns, and your eyes follow her into the kitchen. Jonah tells Annie about the greenhouse he built, and she wants to see it. You let them go to the yard, and you say you’ll be right there.

You stare at her leaning over your kitchen sink. In another life maybe she would just be washing the dishes, and you could slip your hands around her waist and press a kiss to her neck. But you don’t live that life.

“Elise.”

She turns around, and you don’t know what you’re saying, because she’s looking at you so intensely, and it’s been so long, and you think you could just stare at her for a year if she would stay still, but then she’s dragging you into the laundry room. You know this by heart. You know her by heart. You show her in every way possible that you love her. You tell her when she comes. You didn’t mean to tell her like this. She’s on top of a washing machine, and you’re crying. 

It doesn’t go well.

When they leave you’re left with Jonah in the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, but you both know it’s over. Everything’s over now. You’ve lost everything.

//

You find out from Facebook of all places that she’s moving to Chicago. It sits with you for a few days until one night you have too much to drink, and you decide you’re going to stop her. Chicago is too fucking far away. If she leaves, you’ll never see her again.

You call her one hundred times, and she turns her phone off. You drive to her house, and it’s the middle of the night, and you ring the doorbell, and no one answers. You can hear the baby crying, so you know they’re home. The sound makes your resolve waiver. You steel yourself. You’ve already gone too far.

You yell her name. You tell her not to leave. You tell her you love her. You yell her name some more, and when the door finally opens your heart skips.

But it’s not Elise. It’s Annie.

She takes one look at you and asks if you’ve been drinking. She chides you for waking the baby, and don’t you know they live in a quiet neighborhood, and it’s midnight? She asks you why you can’t leave her alone. Why you can’t let her be happy. Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Her voice is hurried and low, and she’s walking straight up to you. She stops a few feet away.

“Just leave us alone, Natasha. It’s over.”

You realize Elise isn’t going to come outside. You can’t go storming in there and rip her away from her crying baby. You don’t have many lines you won’t cross, but that’s one of them. Something folds up inside of you. There are tears stinging your eyes. You’re angry and helpless. You hurt everywhere, and all you want to do is make everything around you hurt too. You don’t have anything to lose anymore. She doesn’t get to have Elise and be happy. She doesn’t get to have both. You never did. You lash out at her.

“She loves me too, you know. I’ve been fucking her for years. I’ve touched her _everywhere,_ and she _begged_ for it.She wanted to marry me. Not you. She wanted children with me. Not you. She’s only with you because I let you have her. I _let_ you have her.”

You don’t know who you’re trying to convince.

Annie doesn’t let you have the last word either way.

“Do you think I don’t know about the sick games you’ve been playing with her? She told me everything, and guess what?” She’s very close to your face now, and your hands are trembling, but she’s still as stone.

“What?” You say obstinately, but you’re shocked by what she’s already said.

“She doesn’t love you anymore. She told me to tell you that. That’s why I’m out here with you, and she’s not.” She watches the words sink into you before she says, “Stay away from my family.”

She walks back inside, and you crumble to the ground. You scream her name one last time, like a wild, wounded animal. It echoes everywhere.

//

The next year passes in black and white. You officially ended things with Jonah. You were cold and cruel, but not on purpose. You just had nothing left to give him. You felt nothing for him anymore. Nothing. He tells you that he’ll stay if you still love him. You don’t. You didn’t leave your bed for a week. You thought you would die there. That you would just waste away. He tried to help you. Even after you kicked him out. Even after everything. You wouldn’t let him. Your mom came and stayed with you, and after a couple weeks you were at least working again. After a few months, you started going out with your friends. After a few more, you started dating.

When he messaged you, you decided to meet up with him because he reminded you of her. Didn’t she want to fuck him once? He stayed around, and you let him. He was funny, and he played guitar, and he cooked. Like Jonah, but worse.

//

It’s a Tuesday in the middle of winter, and you’re stoking the fire place when you notice someone standing in the street light outside. You go to the window and pull the curtain back a little more, and you blink maybe a hundred times. Elise, who you haven’t seen for a year, is standing there. You don’t understand, but your feet are moving toward her, and you open the door and run up to her.

“What are you doing here?” You reach your arms out and rub hers, because you need to touch her to make sure she’s real. She’s shivering, and very real, so you’re not crazy after all.

She’s looking for you. You’re not sure what she means, because if she was looking for you she could have just knocked on the door or fucking called you back for once, but you don’t care. You take her hand and pull her inside. You forget entirely that he’s in the kitchen making dinner until he calls out for you.

Shit. Fuck. You look at her face, and she’s upset. She’s trying to leave, but you won’t let her. She came back because she still loves you. There’s no way you’re letting her leave. This is your last chance, you think. You keep her there until he leaves, and you could care less if you ever see him again.

She’s talking, and you don’t even hear what she says. All your responses are on autopilot, and you just need her mouth on your mouth to fucking live right now. So you pull her into you, and her little fists are pushing against your chest, but you don’t care, you just hold her even tighter. You’re not above begging, and when you do in a single, soft word, she looks at you like she remembers again.

Her mouth goes slack, and her body relaxes in your arms, and you’ve won. You’ve won for now. She’s suddenly frantic against you in a different way, tugging at your clothes, her small hands pressing into you everywhere. You wonder how you ever thought for one second that you didn’t love her. How you ever thought for even a moment that it wasn’t her all along.

You worship her body, and beg her forgiveness, and make her come until she begs you to stop, and then you make her come again. You tell her you want to spend your whole life loving her.

She tells you you’re an idiot, because you already have.

 


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue to She's Got a Boyfriend Anyway

“Did you ever stop loving me?” You’re a sap you, you think. She’s turned you into a fucking sap.

“No.” She says it matter of fact.

“Really?” You turn your head and place a kiss on her shoulder smiling into it.

“Yeah, really.”

“How come you didn’t give me a chance that night then. The night before you left for Chicago.”

“What?”

“The night I screamed my head off in your driveway, and Annie came out to get rid of me.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about.” She sits up now, and stares at you, a confused look on her face.

Your face mirrors hers.

“There’s no way you didn’t hear me. I could hear the baby cry-”

“What night did you come over? I mean, what date, do you remember it?”

“Um, I think it was the night before you guys were suppose to leave.” It dawns on you for the first time that maybe, somehow, she wasn’t there.

“No…I, I went sooner. I left a week before Annie and the baby to get everything set up. She stayed to finish up the paper work on the house-”

“She never mentioned to you that I woke up the whole neighborhood professing my love for you in the driveway? Begging you not to leave?”

“No.” She draws the word out, and you watch her closely. You can’t shake the feeling of never knowing when she’s telling the truth.

 You both sit in silence processing this new information.

“Did…did she tell you what we talked about at least?” You’re embarrassed even thinking about it. Your eyes close, and your face warms.

“Natasha, I literally just told you I have no idea what you’re talking about, so start from the beginning.”

So you tell her, and when you get to the part where you told Annie about you and her, you just give her the general gist, but even the short version is really bad. She sucks in a breath upon hearing it and covers her face with her hands.

“Oh my god.” She’s repeating it, saying it faster, and then slow again. You’re nervous because you’re not really sure how this is going to go. You maneuver on the bed so you’re sitting on your knees between her legs. She’s leaning against the headboard.

“Elise…” You say her name with trepidation in your voice. You watch as her hands drop, and she just stares at you indulgently, like a mother who loves a bad child.

“You’re an asshole, but I can’t believe you tried to stop me from going to Chicago.”

A sigh of relief escapes you. She cares more about the fact that you didn’t want her to leave. It makes you shake your head, but you’re way beyond the point of judging her for loving you. You’re just so grateful she still does. “So, what now?”

“Well, I _am_ hungry. Wanna go get some food? It’d be nice to see the light of day, and I do need to meet up with my friends and let them know I’m not dead.”

You arch an eyebrow and consider that, “I meant what’s next for _us_ , but I guess, food and friends first?” When she starts slipping off the bed, you grab her wrist and pull her back to you, kissing her neck and her jawline, and she squirms away after a couple of moments.

“Seriously, I need to shower. I’m _filthy_.” She giggles and slips out through the door. You can’t bear to be apart from her, so you join her. It takes two hours before you manage to leave the house.

You take her hand as you walk to the sandwich shop. “Are you sure it’s cool that I come with?” She’d texted her friends, and you’re meeting them now.

“Yeah I already told them you were coming. They know I’ve been with you.”

“What’d they say?” You’re nervous and slightly surprised that she told them. She’s been with you for two days. How did she explain that, without, well, _explaining_ that?

“They figured.” She says it simply, and it occurs to you that you never really spent much time with her friends over the years. Not her close friends. You have a lot of mutual friends in the industry that you hung out with, but you never really cared to get to know this particular group. You don’t know how much they know, but if she’s even been slightly honest with them, then they must hate you on principle alone. The thought makes your jaw clench and your heart ache in your chest.

“Elise.” You tug her hand as you come to a stop, and she comes to you instantly, wrapping her arms around your waist.

“Yeah?” Her eyelashes are curled up casting shadows on her face. You’re both bundled up in heavy coats, because it’s fucking cold. You stiffly peck her red nose and search her eyes.

You remind yourself that she’s still married and has a kid. You’ve been so lost in her the past two days that you forgot what fucking planet you were on. Now that you both have clothes on, and the sun is glinting off her ring, you start to panic. You start to feel it prickling up your spine. The thought of her leaving again makes you sick.

She sees it. “Hey, everything’s going to be fine. I love you.” She squeezes your hips with her hands and grins at you like you didn’t single handedly ruin her life for ten years. She’s too good for you, you think. She never figured that out. You hope she never does. You swallow and say,

“Yeah, but what about Sunday?” Sunday is when her flight to Chicago leaves. You are going to try your hardest to make her miss it.

“I don’t know.” She swallows, and her eyes look more hesitant as your eyebrows furrow.

“Can we just do this lunch, and we’ll talk about it all when we get back home?”

You like the sound of that. When _we_ get back _home_. It’s enough for you for now. You look at her a beat longer before you smile and tug on her hand. You still can’t believe she’s right here with you. You only let her hand go when you open the door. She sweeps in excitedly before you, ducking underneath your arm.

You charm them while your hand rests on her thigh under the table. She kisses your cheek twice when she thinks no one is looking. The two of you didn’t fool anyone.

//

You’re throwing a fit, and you know it. She put all her baggage on the porch, waiting for a cab, because she doesn’t trust you to drive her to the airport on time. You stomp outside and start bringing her luggage back inside.

When she catches you, she turns away from the street and lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Natasha, babe, we talked about this. I’ll be back. I’m coming back.”

She’d already delayed her flight for two days, and she won’t give into you anymore.

“Why can’t you just stay? Why do you even have to go back?” She didn’t tell you exactly when she was coming back, just that she needed time to end things with Annie the right way, and she needed to make sure she’d see Emma regularly.

“Annie deserves more than that, and I miss Emma too. I’m a mother, Natasha. Just because my marriage will be over doesn’t mean I won’t still have responsibilities. Why are you pretending like you don’t understand this?”

“Are you going to sleep with her?”

You watch as she rolls her eyes, her hands on her hips, “Are you kidding me? Are you really asking me that?”

“Are you really not answering that?” You glare at her. You can’t stand the thought of her leaving. Even if she stays just to yell at you, you’d take it.

She walks up to you and puts her hands on either side of your face. “No one is going to touch me but you from now on. Please, please. I love you. Please don’t end this on a bad note. What if I die in a plane crash? Do you really want our last conversation to be a fight?”

“All the more reason you’re not getting on a fucking plane today, Elise!”

She smiles indulgently at you. You soften your tone, begging now,

“What’s another day? Just one more day.”

“You’ve said that for the past two days. Just think of it this way - the sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll be back.”

“Well, when will that be?”

“I’m not going in circles with you anymore. I swear to god, I’m going to tear out all my hair if you ask me that again.”

“But I like your hair.”

She slips her hands around your waist and leans her forehead against yours, and you kiss her mouth suddenly. She gasps. You push her against the front door, and you slam your hips into hers. “Fuck me.”

“The cab will be here in a minute.”

“Fuck me for a minute then.”

You reach your hand down and rub between her legs with your entire palm. When her breathing gets jagged your fingers search for her clit through the layers, rubbing circles. Her hips are rolling into you, despite herself, and you’re popping open the button of her jeans when a horn honks, startling you both.

“Fuck, I have to go.” She’s flushed and trying to catch her breath.

“Stay.” Your eyes are desperate.

You can tell that she’s not going to stay this time. You’ve had two extra days, and really, she’s right, it’s just putting off the inevitable.

She moves around you and waves at the cab, pointing at her luggage. He climbs out and starts packing it in his trunk. She turns to face you, buttoning her pants and smoothing her hair.

“I love it when you touch me, but I’m so fucking wet right now. This is not how I wanted to get on a plane.”

You feel hot tears sting your eyes, and it’s stupid.

“Hey, don’t do that. If you do that, then I’ll do that, and then we’ll both be doing that.” But it’s too late, because she has tears in her eyes too.

“What if when you get back, you see them, and remember how much you love them, and you don’t come back to me?” You’re working yourself up, but it’s possible isn’t it? It’s possible that she’ll leave, and you’ll never see her again. Just like before.

She doesn’t respond, she just leans in and kisses you for a long time before the cabby honks his horn again.

“If you _really_ think that then you still don’t know how much I love you, you idiot.” She says it affectionately with all the patience in world, and then she’s slipping into the cab and closing the door. You walk out to the middle of the road.  Your eyes follow the cab as it disappears down the street. She turns around to look at you through the window, and you wave goodbye with a watery smile on your face.

//

You’re completely losing your mind, because she’s called you every single day like clockwork at 10 p.m. - except for today. The day before her flight is suppose to leave. You’d taken a break at work right on time, and now you had to go back in. You texted her and called her, but no answer, nothing, silence. By 11 p.m. a heavy weight settles in your chest. By midnight she’s been raped and killed in your mind twenty times over by some serial killer. By 1 a.m. she’s a cheating, lying bitch and you can’t believe how pathetically in love with her you are. By 2 a.m. you’re sorry, and you deserve it, and you don’t care as long as she just comes back in one piece and touches you with her warm little hands. By 3 a.m. you’re stomping home and smashing your phone against the pavement because fuck you and fuck her and fuck everything in this shitty fucking world.

You’re home now, hair wet from a shower, back against your bed, eyes staring at the ceiling, and you know. You know exactly what she did tonight. What she’s _doing_ right now. You punch everything around you, and it’s all too soft, and nothing lands hard enough to satisfy you. When you get tired of that you think about texting someone to come over. You start running through a short list of people that you know would drop everything and come fuck you. You briefly consider Jonah, but that hits you low somewhere. Even you wouldn’t do that to either one of them. It’s a satisfying thought process, but ultimately futile, because your phone is dead and broken.

You put your hands in your pants like a protest, and you start to rub, but everything feels numb, so you stop. You haven’t touched yourself since she left two weeks ago. You don’t want anything, not even yourself, if it’s not her.

You deserve this anyway. The thought drains all your anger, and now you’re laying against your mattress, hollow, every fear you’ve ever had about her echoing in your mind. You wonder if she’s even capable of saying no to someone she cares about. You wonder if you’ll wonder this the rest of your life. Every pretty co-worker, every friendly barista, every night out by herself is a risk you’ll be taking. You haven’t talked about monogamy. It’s obviously not the way you’ve both lived your lives up until now. You want it with her though. You think you could kill a person for touching her now.  

You don’t sleep until the early hours of the morning, and even then it’s brief. You’re out of bed by 8 a.m. You make a fire in the living room, brew a pot of coffee, and wait. If she’s even coming back she should be on your doorstep by noon. You briefly consider meeting her at the airport, but you don’t know anything about her flight except the time, and anyway, she doesn’t get that from you right now. She doesn’t get surprise flowers and a car waiting for her. Maybe in another life.

//

When you land your heart is pounding in your chest. You’ve called Natasha’s phone about one hundred times, and she didn’t pick up. You flashback to the night before, your lips saying goodbye to Annie’s body. You fast forward to this morning - a soft kiss to Emma’s sleeping head, hot tears on your face. You didn’t realize how hard it would be. You almost couldn’t leave. You almost didn’t leave.

But here you are, like a fucking dog, panting in a crowded place, desperate to get back to its owner. You shouldn’t put it that way, you think. It’s different now, you think. You feel your life resetting, and it’s freeing. You feel the deep drum of grief, your teeth hurt from it, yet, even so, this is the most free you think you’ve ever been. You didn’t think you’d ever get to start over. You didn’t think you’d ever get to have her like this. You still quietly can’t believe it.

You’re hyper aware of the stimulus around you. Families bickering, someone ordering a slice of pizza, a security guard talking into a walkie. You take your time collecting your suitcase and buying a coffee.

You don’t wonder why your calls are going straight to voicemail. You know she’s not naive. Whatever she thinks - she’s right.

She’ll forgive you, you think with a grin. A sick place inside of you looks forward to the path toward forgiveness. You know it’s going to hurt.

//

You take deep breaths, trying to calm down, as you pull up to her house. There’s a freezing drizzle that makes your hair frizz and your clothes damp. You’d gotten the worst of it as you waited outside of the airport for a cab. You nervously look at yourself in the mirror and then roll your eyes. You have bigger problems than frizzy hair. You don’t know how bad it’s going to be when you knock on the door.

You’ve missed her so much you couldn’t bear it. It’s pathetic, really. Nothing was sacred. Even when you made pancakes for Emma for the last time and watched as she ate them happily, cooked blueberries oozing down her chin, you ached for Natasha’s syrupy mouth against yours. When you told Annie you were leaving her, you wore Natasha’sknit sweater, and her scent comforted you, even as your wife broke in front of you. When your lips trailed down the length of Annie’s body, plowing a field of sorry, you closed your eyes and dreamed of her pale skin. You think of her always. 

Now, you stand on her porch, and you knock on the door, and you wait. She keeps you waiting. Eventually you hear a shuffling, and she opens it. Her arms are crossed, and she doesn’t look at you as you struggle to drag your luggage in. She doesn’t even try to help.

“It’s good to see you too,” you joke. Why do you do that, you think, cringing almost immediately.

When it’s all in you close the door and exhale slowly. You unbutton your coat and hang it on the rack. You unwind your scarf and hang it up too, pulling your gloves off and shoving them into the pockets of your coat. You turn around, and she’s looking at you now, and there’s hurt in her eyes. You flashback briefly to when you’d walked around her and left, just a year ago, in the kitchen right over there. Right after she told you she loved you.

You walk toward her now, your eyes full of something, your heart tugging, and you wrap your arms around her.

“I missed you.” Your face is against her shoulder, and you take in her scent. You grab at her arms and make her wrap them around you. She does, but it’s loose, and you make a little sound in protest. Apparently that does it, because she’s squeezing you so tight now you can’t breathe, and then she whispers angrily, “Did you even have time to shower after?” You go cold everywhere. You’re not sure why you expected her to understand.

“I left her for you. What more do you want?” You say, your voice pleading. She doesn’t let you go right away, and you think you might pass out.

When she finally does, she breaks away as if you were on fire, as if touching you burns, and she paces. She lets out a derisive laugh, and you think you might have pushed her over the edge. “I knew you fucking would. I _knew_ it.” Her hands are running through her hair, and she looks like she hasn’t slept at all.

“I’m sorry.” You don’t know what to say. You reach for her, but she just flinches back and keeps pacing.

“It’s always going to be like this isn’t it? Wondering every time you’re there if you’re fucking her? Wondering who you’re with, even here, when you don’t pick up your phone? Wondering if I come home early, if I’ll walk into my own bedroom to find some piece of shit fucking my slut girlfriend into the mattress?”

“No.” You say it weakly. You don’t think she’s ready to believe anything you say right now. “I swear, no. What can I do? What can I do to make it better?”

She stops and looks at you accusingly. “You could fucking murder me. You could strangle the life out of me right now, and I’d want you the whole time. You’re standing in my house, smelling like her, and I still want to fuck you against this goddamn wall. I _fucking hate_ how much I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know that.” You know that because you spent ten years of your life just like that.

She walks up to you and grabs the hem of your sweater. She pulls it over your head, and moves on to the button of your pants.

“Are you sure?” You say, because her hands are shaking.

“You don’t want to fuck? Are you all fucked out?”

“That’s not what I-”

But she cuts you off with a searing kiss that’s teeth and pressure and heat. She pulls back and lets you breathe for a minute, but her nails are in your skin.

“You’re mine, and I’ll fuck you whenever I want to.”

You nod your head, reassuring her.

You love the monster and the girl. White hot heat spreads out all over your body. You love the way she takes you. You love it like this.

She unbuttons your pants, her fingertips digging into your skin as she drags them down, and you kick them off. While she’s down there she finds a mark that isn’t hers and bites it so hard that your eyes water. She grabs your arm, drags you to the living room, and pushes you down to the floor. Your head hits the wood, and it stings, but you don’t say anything. You just take it.

“I don’t want you to fuck anyone else, do you understand?”

You nod your head, and she tears off the rest of your clothes.

“Don’t even fucking touch yourself unless I tell you to.”

You lean up to kiss her, to make her feel how sorry you are, but she pushes you back down.

“Did she kiss you here?” Her mouth is at your neck.

You nod, too afraid to lie. She bites down, and you cry out and cling to her. “ _Please._ ” You say. “ _I’m sorry, please.”_

“Did she put her mouth here? Did she suck on _my_ fucking tits?”

You whimper, your skin stinging and hot against her relentless punishment. She’s hovering over your breasts, and you clutch at her head as she scrapes her teeth against your hard nipples.

It goes like this until she’s covered every inch of your body.

You think you have nothing left that’s not hers by the time you’re coming around her fingers.

You spend the day in bed, and by the time the sun goes down, she’s soft again. She lets you kiss her everywhere, and you whisper your love all over her skin. You shower together and fall asleep watching a movie. She makes you popcorn, and your head is on her chest as she combs her fingers through your hair.

The next morning you go with her to work, and she holds your hand in the car, and you spend most of the day just staring at her from a table by the window. She brings you lattes just the way you like them and kisses you in front of everyone.

You don’t ever talk about what happened during your last night in Chicago again. She gently kisses and licks the bruises and scrapes she made on your body until they’re gone.

//

“Why can’t you just live here?” She doesn’t understand why you want to get your own apartment. You were just on your way out to look at some buildings nearby when she cornered you with another attempt. “It’ll just be a waste of money. We agreed.”

“I was under duress.”

She raises an eyebrow, “You were in heaven.”

“It was completely unfair and you know it.”

“Don’t you want to live with me?” She changes tactics.

“ _Yes_ ,” you tell her for the fifth time that week, “But, I think we should wait to move in.”

She crosses her arms. You want to live with her. You want nothing more than to call this stupid house your home, and make dinner together, and open Christmas presents in front of the fire, and yell at her for getting high too much. The only problem is that Emma will stay with you sometimes, and you’re not sure how to navigate that with Natasha. She’s never seemed very interested in a relationship with your daughter, but then again, you haven’t talked about it.

“We’ve waited ten years. How much more waiting should we do?”

“Uh, I’ve waited ten years. You just realized your undying love for me last year, and you’re being _really_ impatient about it all things considered.” You smile at her as charmingly as you can manage and peck her cheek.

“Tell me what the real reason is. No bullshit.” She’s looking at you with knowing eyes, her tongue tucked in her cheek, her arms still crossed. So cute, you think. So fucking cute.

You close your eyes for a moment, deciding something, and then you finally say it, “Emma.”

You look at her, and she breaks into a relieved smile.

“That’s ridiculous. Emma can be here too whenever you want. We’ll make one of the guest bedrooms her room, and I’ll get a swing for the yard and-”

“Natasha.” Your eyes are closed again, and you’re cringing, because as amazing as that sounds, it’s just not going to happen right now.

“Annie -” You falter a little bit, always worried about saying her name, but you take a breath and keep going, “Annie won’t let her stay with me if I’m living with you. Not right away at least. She thinks it’ll be too confusing for her.” It all rushes out at once.

Her eyes widen in disbelief.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m your girlfriend. Of course I’m going to be around Emma. Also, when the _fuck_ did you talk to Annie?”

Your heart speeds up when she says you’re her girlfriend. You’re not used to it, and it sounds so,  _so_ good. “Natasha. I have to talk to Annie. We have a child. I can’t possibly tell you every single time we speak.” She squints her eyes angrily at you, like she has something terrible to say, but you keep going, “Look, it’s really tenuous right now. My rights. Well, technically, my lack of rights. Emma isn’t legally mine. We never finalized the adoption, and I can’t do anything to jeopardize it.”

You watch her face go slack and her shoulders slump, because Annie just checkmated her from fucking Chicago.

“Fine. We can get you an apartment, but you’re never fucking staying there unless Emma’s in town.” She says it grumpily. “I want you in my bed, every night, naked. And yes, you _can_ tell me every single time you talk to her.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever.”

“Don’t 'whatever’ me, princess. I’m compromising here.”

“You don’t know anything about compromise. You always get what you want.”

She curls a finger in your belt loop and pulls you toward her. “Yeah, I guess I do.” And then she’s looking at you like you’re all she’s ever wanted. You’re melting and melting as she kisses you. She takes the keys from your hand, tossing them, as she works inside your mouth with a hot, slow tongue. She pulls away, and grabs your face with both hands. She leans her forehead against yours, biting her lip.

“I love you forever.” She says it so delicately, like everything will break if she’s not careful.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you look at her, her black hair and her porcelain skin. Her achingly pretty face. The same girl the street light showed you for the first time so long ago, right outside this house. There’s no sign of the monster now as she sighs, heavy with it all.

You wonder if it’s normal that she just ruined your panties. You feel your heartbeat right where you want her hands to be. You wonder if this is what everyone else gets off on - love. She’s looking at you now, waiting for you to say something back.

“I’m _so_ fucking wet for you right now.”

She laughs and drops her hands, pinching the bridge of her nose as she does.

“We better go take care of that then.” She grabs your hand and pulls you up the staircase. You follow her and giggle,

“So, which one is our room?”

She turns back and smiles at you. “It’s right up here. Do you want to see it?”

“Yeah. I do.”


End file.
